IHE  TAMING  OF 
ID  BUTTE  WESTER 


!'ll  spend  the  last  dollar  of  the  fortune  my  father  left  me,  if 
needful,  in  finding  that  man  and  hanging  him  !  " 


The  Taming  of 
Red  Butte  Western 


BY 

FRANCIS    LYNDE 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  ::::::::::  1910 


'    ' ' '    COPYRIGHT,  1910,"  &t 
'.  '  CHAKLES  SCB-tBNER'S  SONS 

Published  April,  1910 


MR.  CHARLES  AUGUSTINE  STICKLE 

My  brother — in  deed,  though  not  by  blood — this 
tale  of  his  birthland  is  affectionately  inscribed. 


M18063 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  *AGE 

I.      COLLARS-AND-CUFFS 3 

II.     THE  RED  DESERT 24 

III.  A  LITTLE  BROTHER  OF  THE  Cows      .     .     38 

IV.  AT  THE  Rio  GLORIA 59 

V.     THE  OUTLAWS 80 

VI.     EVERYMAN'S  SHARE 102 

VII.     THE  KILLER .122 

VIII.     BENSON'S  BRIDGE-TIMBERS 141 

IX.     JUDSON'S  JOKE 15? 

X.     FLEMISTER  AND  OTHERS 177 

XL    NEMESIS 187 

XII.     THE  PLEASURERS 202 

XIII.  BITTER-SWEET.     ...  .     .  224 

XIV.  BLIND  SIGNALS 248 

XV.     ELEANOR  INTERVENES 260 

XVI.    THE  SHADOWGRAPH 270 

XVII.     THE  DIPSOMANIAC 289 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.     AT  SILVER  SWITCH 305 

XIX.     THE  CHALLENGE 324 

XX.     STORM  SIGNALS 346 

XXI.    THE  Boss  MACHINIST 369 

XXII.    THE  TERROR 380 

XXIII.    THE  CRUCIBLE     . 398 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"I'll  spend  the  last  dollar  of  the  fortune  my  father  left 
me,  if  needful,  in  finding  that  man  and  hanging  him! " 

Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

His  hand  was  on  the  latch  of  the  door-yard  gate  when  a 
man  rose  out  of  the  gloom 138 

"  Bart's  afraid  he  can't  duck  without  dying."   .       .       .       .176 
"Well,  gentlemen,  I'm  waiting.     Why  don't  you  shoot?"     400 


THE  TAMING  OF  RED  BUTTE 
WESTERN 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte 
Western 


COLLARS-AND-CUFFS 

THE  windows  of  the  division  head-quarters 
of  the  Pacific  Southwestern  at  Copah  look 
northward  over  bald,  brown  mesas,  and  across 
the  Pannikin  to  the  eroded  cliffs  of  the  Uintah 
Hills.  The  prospect,  lacking  vegetation,  artistic 
atmosphere,  and  color,  is  crude  and  rather  harshly 
aggressive;  and  to  Lidgerwood,  glooming  thought 
fully  out  upon  it  through  the  weather-worn  panes 
scratched  and  bedimmed  by  many  desert  sand 
storms,  it  was  peculiarly  depressing. 

"No,  Ford;  I  hate  to  disappoint  you,  but  I'm 
not  the  man  you  are  looking  for,"  he  said,  turn 
ing  back  to  things  present  and  in  suspense, 
and  speaking  as  one  who  would  add  a  reason  to 
unqualified  refusal.  "I've  been  looking  over  the 
ground  while  you  were  coming  on  from  New  York. 

3 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

It  isn't  in  me  to  flog  the  Red  Butte  Western  into  a 
well-behaved  division  of  the  P.  S-W. " 

The  grave-eyed  man  who  had  borrowed  Super 
intendent  Leckhard's  pivot-chair  nodded  intelli 
gence. 

:'That  is  what  you  have  been  saying,  with  varia 
tions,  for  the  last  half-hour.  Why  ?" 

"  Because  the  job  asks  for  gifts  that  I  don't  pos 
sess.  At  the  present  moment  the  Red  Butte  West 
ern  is  the  most  hopelessly  demoralized  three  hun 
dred  miles  of  railroad  west  of  the  Rockies.  There 
is  no  system,  no  discipline,  no  respect  for  authority. 
The  men  run  the  road  as  if  it  were  a  huge  joke. 
Add  to  these  conditions  the  fact  that  the  Red  Des 
ert  is  a  country  where  the  large-calibred  revolver 
is " 

"Yes,  I  know  all  that,"  interrupted  the  man  in 
the  chair.  "The  road  and  the  region  need  civil 
izing — need  it  badly.  That  is  one  of  the  reasons 
why  I  am  trying  to  persuade  you  to  take  hold. 
You  are  long  on  civilization,  Howard. " 

"Not  on  the  kind  which  has  to  be  inculcated  by 
main  strength  and  a  cheerful  disregard  for  conse 
quences.  I'm  no  scrapper." 

To  the  eye  of  appraisal,  Lidgerwood's  personal 
appearance  bore  out  the  peaceable  assertion  to  the 
final  well-groomed  detail.  Compactly  built  and 

4 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

neatly,  brawn  and  bulk  were  conspicuously  lack 
ing;  and  the  thin,  intellectual  face  was  made  to 
appear  still  thinner  by  the  pointed  cut  of  the  closely 
trimmed  brown  beard.  The  eyes  were  alert  and 
not  wanting  in  steadfastness;  but  they  had  a 
trick  of  seeming  to  look  beyond,  rather  than 
directly  at,  the  visual  object.  A  physiognomist 
would  have  classified  him  as  a  man  of  studious 
habit  with  the  leisure  to  indulge  it,  and  uncon 
sciously  he  dressed  the  part. 

In  his  outspoken  moments,  which  were  rare,  he 
was  given  to  railing  against  the  fate  which  had 
made  him  a  round  peg  in  a  square  hole;  a  techni 
cal  engineer  and  a  man  of  action,  when  his  earlier 
tastes  and  inclinations  had  drawn  him  in  other  di 
rections.  But  the  temperamental  qualities;  the 
niceties,  the  exactness,  the  thoroughness,  which, 
finding  no  outlet  in  an  artistic  calling,  had  made 
him  a  master  in  his  unchosen  profession,  were 
well  known  to  Mr.  Stuart  Ford,  first  vice- 
president  of  the  Pacific  Southwestern  System. 
And  it  was  largely  for  the  sake  of  these  qualities 
that  Ford  locked  his  hands  over  one  knee  and 
spoke  as  a  man  and  a  comrade. 

"Let  me  tell  you,  Howard — you've  no  idea  what 
a  savage  fight  we've  had  in  New  York,  absorbing 
these  same  demoralized  three  hundred  miles.  You 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

know  why  we  were  obliged  to  have  them.  If  the 
Transcontinental  had  beaten  us,  it  meant  that  our 
competitor  would  build  over  here  from  Jack's 
Canyon,  divide  the  Copah  business  with  us,  and 
have  a  line  three  hundred  miles  nearer  to  the  Ne 
vada  gold-fields  than  ours." 

"I  understand/'  said  Lidgerwood;  and  the  vice- 
president  went  on. 

"Since  the  failure  of  the  Red  Butte  'pocket' 
mines,  the  road  and  the  country  it  traverses  have 
been  practically  given  over  to  the  cowmen,  the 
gulch  miners,  the  rustlers,  and  the  drift  from  the 
big  camps  elsewhere.  In  New  York  and  on  the 
Street,  Red  Butte  Western  was  regarded  as  an  ex 
ploded  cartridge — a  kite  without  a  tail.  It  was 
only  a  few  weeks  ago  that  it  dawned  upon  our 
executive  committee  that  this  particular  kite  with 
out  a  tail  offered  us  a  ready-made  jump  of  three 
hundred  miles  toward  Tonopah  and  Goldfield. 
We  began  buying  quietly  for  the  control  with  the 
stock  at  nineteen.  Naturally  the  Transcontinental 
people  caught  on,  and  in  twenty-four  hours  we 
were  at  it,  hammer  and  tongs." 

Lidgerwood  nodded.  "  I  kept  up  with  it  in  the 
newspapers,"  he  cut  in. 

"The  newspapers  didn't  print  the  whole  story; 
not  by  many  chapters,"  was  the  qualifying  re- 

6 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

joinder.  "When  the  stock  had  gone  to  par  and 
beyond,  our  own  crowd  went  back  on  us;  and 
after  it  had  passed  the  two-hundred  mark,  Adair 
and  I  were  fighting  it  practically  alone.  Even 
President  Brewster  lost  his  nerve.  He  wanted  to 
make  a  hedging  compromise  with  the  Transcon 
tinental  brokers  just  before  we  swung  over  the 
summit  with  the  final  five  hundred  shares  we 
needed." 

Again  Lidgerwood  made  the  sign  of  assent. 

"  Mr.  Brewster  is  a  level-headed  Westerner.  He 
doubtless  knew,  to  the  dotting  of  an  'i, '  the  par 
ticular  brand  of  trouble  you  two  expansionists  were 
so  eager  to  acquire." 

"He  did.  He  has  a  copper  property  somewhere 
in  the  vicinity  of  Angels,  and  he  knows  the  road. 
He  contended  that  we  were  buying  two  streaks  of 
rust  and  a  right-of-way  in  the  Red  Desert.  More 
than  that,  he  asserted  that  the  executive  officer 
didn't  live  who  could  bring  order  out  of  the  chaos 
into  which  bad  management  and  a  peculiarly 
tough  environment  had  plunged  the  Red  Butte 
Western.  That's  where  I  had  him  bested,  How 
ard.  All  through  the  hot  fight  I  kept  saying  over 
and  over  to  myself  that  I  knew  the  man." 

"But  you  don't  know  him,  Stuart;  that  is  the 
weak  link  in  the  chain." 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Lidgerwood  turned  away  to  the  scratched 
window-panes  and  the  crude  prospect,  blurred  now 
by  the  gathering  shadows  of  the  early  evening.  In 
the  yards  below,  a  long  freight-train  was  pulling  in 
from  the  west,  with  a  switching-engine  chasing  it 
to  begin  the  cutting  out  of  the  Copah  locals.  Over 
in  the  Red  Butte  yard  a  road-locomotive,  turning 
on  the  table,  swept  a  wide  arc  with  the  beam  of  its 
electric  headlight  in  the  graying  dusk.  Through 
the  half-opened  door  in  the  despatcher's  room 
came  the  diminished  chattering  of  the  telegraph 
instruments;  this,  with  the  outer  clamor  of  trains 
and  engines,  made  the  silence  in  the  private  office 
more  insistent. 

When  Lidgerwood  faced  about  again  after  the 
interval  of  abstraction  there  were  fine  lines  of 
harassment  between  his  eyes,  and  his  words  came 
as  if  speech  were  costing  him  a  conscious  effort. 

"  If  it  were  merely  a  matter  of  technical  fitness, 
I  suppose  I  might  go  over  to  Angels  and  do  what 
you  want  done  with  the  three  hundred  miles  of 
demoralization.  But  the  Red  Butte  proposition 
asks  for  more;  for  something  that  I  can't  give 
it.  Stuart,  there  is  a  yellow  streak  in  me  that 
you  seem  never  to  have  discovered.  I  am  a 
coward." 

The  ghost  of  an  incredulous  smile  wrinkled 
8 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

about  the  tired  eyes  of  the  big  man  in  the  pivot- 
chair. 

"You  put  it  with  your  usual  exactitude,"  he 
assented  slowly;  "I  hadn't  discovered  it."  Then: 
"You  forget  that  I  have  known  you  pretty  much 
all  your  life,  Howard. " 

"You  haven't  known  me  at  all,"  was  the  sober 
reply. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have !  Let  me  recall  one  of  the  boy 
hood  pictures  that  has  never  faded.  It  was  just 
after  school,  one  hot  day,  in  the  Illinois  September. 
Our  crowd  had  gone  down  to  the  pond  back  of  the 
school-house,  and  two  of  us  were  paddling  around 
on  a  raft  made  of  sawmill  slabs.  One  of  the  two 
—who  always  had  more  dare-deviltry  than  sense 
under  his  skull  thatch — was  silly  enough  to  'rock 
the  boat/  and  it  went  to  pieces.  You  couldn't 
swim,  Howard,  but  if  you  hadn't  forgotten  that 
trifling  handicap  and  wallowed  in  to  pull  poor  Billy 
Mimms  ashore,  I  should  have  been  a  murderer." 

Lidgerwood  shook  his  head. 

"  You  think  you  have  made  your  case,  but  you 
haven't.  What  you  say  is  true  enough;  I  wasn't 
afraid  of  drowning — didn't  think  much  about  it, 
either  way,  I  guess.  But  what  I  say  is  true,  also. 
There  are  many  kinds  of  courage,  and  quite  as 
many  kinds  of  cowardice.  I  am  a  coward  of  men." 

9 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Oh,  no,  you're  not:  you  only  think  you  are," 
protested  the  one  who  thought  he  knew.  But 
Lidgerwood  would  not  let  that  stand. 

"I  know  I  am.  Hear  me  through,  and  then 
judge  for  yourself.  What  I  am  going  to  tell  you  I 
have  never  told  to  any  living  man;  but  it  is  your 
right  to  hear  it.  ...  I  have  had  the  symptoms  all 
my  life,  Stuart.  You  have  spoken  of  the  school 
boy  days:  you  may  remember  how  you  used  to 
fight  my  battles  for  me.  You  thought  I  took  the 
bullying  of  the  bigger  boys  because  I  wasn't  strong 
enough  physically  to  hold  up  my  end.  That 
wasn't  it:  it  was  fear,  pure  and  simple.  Are  you 
listening  ?" 

The  man  in  the  chair  nodded  and  said,  "Go 
on."  He  was  of  those  to  whom  fear,  the  fear  of 
what  other  men  might  do  to  him,  was  as  yet  a 
thing  unlearned,  and  he  was  trying  to  attain  the 
point  of  view  of  one  to  whom  it  seemed  very  real. 

"It  followed  me  up  to  manhood,  and  after  a 
time  I  found  myself  constantly  and  consciously 
deferring  to  it.  It  was  easy  enough  after  the  habit 
was  formed.  Twentieth-century  civilization  is 
decently  peaceable,  and  it  isn't  especially  difficult 
to  dodge  the  personal  collisions.  I  have  succeeded 
in  dodging  them,  for  the  greater  part,  paying  the 
price  in  humiliation  and  self-abasement  as  I  went 

10 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

along.  God,  Stuart,  you  don't  know  what  that 
means! — the  degradation;  the  hot  and  cold  chills 
of  self-loathing;  the  sickening  misery  of  having 
your  own  soul  turn  upon  you  to  rend  and  tear 
you  like  a  rabid  dog!'* 

"No,  I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  said  the 
other  man,  moved  more  than  he  cared  to  admit  by 
the  abject  confession. 

"Of  course  you  don't.  Nobody  else  can  know. 
I  am  alone  in  my  pit  of  wretchedness,  Ford  .  .  . 
as  one  born  out  of  time;  apprehending,  as  well  as 
you  or  any  one,  what  is  required  of  a  man  and  a 
gentleman,  and  yet  unable  to  answer  when  my 
name  is  called.  I  said  I  had  been  paying  the  price; 
I  am  paying  it  here  and  now.  This  is  the  fourth 
time  I  have  had  to  refuse  a  good  offer  that  carried 
with  it  the  fighting  chance." 

The  vice-president's  heavy  eyebrows  slanted  in 
questioning  surprise. 

"You  knew  in  advance  that  you  were  going  to 
turn  me  down  ?  Yet  you  came  a  thousand  miles 
to  meet  me  here;  and  you  admit  that  you  have  gone 
the  length  of  looking  the  ground  over." 

Lidgerwood's  smile  was  mirthless. 

"A  regular  recurring  phase  of  the  disease.  It 
manifests  itself  in  a  determination  to  break  away 
and  do  or  die  in  the  effort  to  win  a  little  self-respect. 

ii 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

I  can't  take  the  plunge.  I  know  beforehand  that 
I  can't  .  .  .  which  brings  us  down  to  Copah,  the 
present  exigency,  and  the  fact  that  you'll  have  to 
look  farther  along  for  your  Red  Butte  Western 
man-queller.  The  blood  isn't  in  my  veins,  Stuart. 
It  was  left  out  in  the  assembling." 

The  vice-president  was  still  a  young  man  and  he 
was  confronting  a  problem  that  annoyed  him.  He 
had  been  calling  himself,  and  not  without  reason, 
a  fair  judge  of  men.  Yet  here  was  a  man  whom  he 
had  known  intimately  from  boyhood,  who  was  but 
just  now  revealing  a  totally  unsuspected  quality. 

"  You  say  you  have  been  dodging  the  collisions. 
How  do  you  know  you  wouldn't  buck  up  when  the 
real  pinch  comes  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Because  the  pinch  came  once — and  I  didn't 
buck  up.  It  was  over  a  year  ago,  and  to  this  good 
day  I  can't  think  calmly  about  it.  You  will  under 
stand  when  I  say  that  it  cost  me  the  love  of  the  one 
woman  in  the  world." 

The  vice-president  did  understand.  Being  a 
married  lover  himself,  he  could  measure  the  depth 
of  the  abyss  into  which  Lidgerwood  was  looking. 
His  voice  was  as  sympathetic  as  a  woman's  when 
he  said:  "Go  ahead  and  ease  your  mind;  tell  me 
about  it,  if  you  can,  Howard.  It's  barely  possible 
that  you  are  not  the  best  judge  of  your  own  act." 

12 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

There  was  something  approaching  the  aban 
donment  of  the  shameless  in  Lidgerwood's  manner 
when  he  went  on. 

"It  was  in  the  Montana  mountains.  I  was 
going  in  to  do  a  bit  of  expert  engineering  for  her 
father.  Incidentally,  I  was  escorting  her  and  her 
mother  from  the  railroad  terminus  to  the  summer 
camp  in  the  hills,  where  they  were  to  join  a  coach 
ing  party  of  their  friends  for  the  Yellowstone  tour. 
We  had  to  drive  forty  miles  in  a  stage,  and  there 
were  six  of  us — the  two  women  and  four  men.  On 
the  way  the  talk  turned  upon  stage-robbings  and 
hold-ups.  With  the  chance  of  the  real  thing  as  re 
mote  as  a  visit  from  Mars,  I  could  be  an  ass  and  a 
braggart.  One  of  the  men,  a  salesman  for  a  pow 
der  company,  gave  me  the  rope  wherewith  to  hang 
myself.  He  argued  for  non-resistance,  and  I  re 
member  that  I  grew  sarcastic  over  the  spectacle  af 
forded  by  a  grown  man,  armed  and  in  possession 
of  his  five  senses,  permitting  himself  to  be  robbed 
without  attempting  to  resist.  You  can  guess 
what  followed  ?" 

"I'd  rather  hear  you  tell  it,"  said  the  listener  at 
Superintendent  Leckhard's  desk.  "Go  on/' 

Lidgerwood  waited  until  the  switching-engine, 
with  its  pop-valve  open  and  screaming  like  a  lib 
erated  devil  of  the  noise  pit,  had  passed. 

13 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Three  miles  beyond  the  supper  station  we 
had  our  hold-up;  the  cut-and-dried,  melodra 
matic  sort  of  thing  you  read  about,  or  used  to  read 
about,  in  the  early  days,  with  a  couple  of  Win 
chesters  poking  through  the  scrub  pines  to  repre 
sent  the  gang  in  hiding,  and  one  lone,  crippled 
desperado  to  come  down  to  the  footlights  in  the 
speaking  part.  You  get  the  picture?" 

"Yes;   I've  seen  the  original." 

"  Of  course,  it  struck  every  soul  of  us  with  the 
shock  of  the  incredible — the  totally  unexpected. 
It  was  a  rank  anachronism,  twenty-five  years  out 
of  date  in  that  particular  locality.  Before  any 
body  realized  what  was  happening,  the  cripple 
had  us  lined  up  in  a  row  beside  the  stage,  and  I 
was  reaching  for  the  stars  quite  as  anxiously  as 
the  little  Jew  hat  salesman,  who  was  swearing  by 
all  the  patriarchs  that  the  twenty-dollar  bill  in  his 
right-hand  pocket  was  his  entire  fortune." 

"Naturally,"  Ford  commented.  "You  needn't 
rawhide  yourself  for  that.  You've  been  West 
often  enough  and  long  enough  at  a  time  to  know 
the  rules  of  the  game — not  to  be  frivolous  when 
the  other  fellow  has  the  drop  on  you. " 

"Wait,"  said  Lidgerwood.  "One  minute  later 
the  cripple  had  sized  us  up  for  what  we  were.  The 
other  three  men  were  not  armed.  I  was,  and  Miss 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

El — the  young  woman  knew  it.  Also  the  cripple 
knew  it.  He  tapped  the  gun  bulging  in  my  pocket 
and  said,  in  good-natured  contempt,  *  Watch  out 
that  thing  don't  go  off  and  hurt  you  some  time 
when  you  ain't  lookin',  stranger. '  Ford,  I  think  I 
must  have  been  hypnotized.  I  stood  there  like  a 
frozen  image,  and  let  that  crippled  cow-rustler  rob 
those  two  women — take  the  rings  from  their 
fingers!" 

"Oh,  hold  on;  there's  another  side  to  all  that, 
and  you  know  it,"  the  vice-president  began;  but 
Lidgerwood  would  not  listen. 

"No,"  he  protested;  "don't  try  to  find  excuses 
for  me;  there  were  none.  The  fellow  gave  me 
every  chance;  turned  his  back  on  me  as  an  abso 
lutely  negligible  factor  while  he  was  going  through 
the  others.  I'm  quick  enough  when  the  crisis 
doesn't  involve  a  fighting  man's  chance;  and  I  can 
handle  a  gun,  too,  when  the  thing  to  be  shot  at 
isn't  a  human  being.  But  to  save  m}  soul  from 
everlasting  torments  I  couldn't  go  through  the 
simple  motions  of  pulling  the  pistol  from  my 
pocket  and  dropping  that  fellow  in  his  tracks; 
couldn't  and  didn't." 

"Why,  of  course  you  couldn't,  after  it  had  got 
that  far  along,"  asserted  Ford.  "I  doubt  if  any 
one  could.  That  little  remark  about  the  gun  in 

15 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

your  pocket  did  you  up.  When  a  man  gets  you 
pacified  to  the  condition  in  which  he  can  safely 
josh  you,  he  has  got  you  going  and  he  knows  it— 
and  knows  you  know  it.  You  may  be  twice  as  hot 
and  bloodthirsty  as  you  were  before,  but  you  are 
just  that  much  less  able  to  strike  back.  It's  not  a 
theory;  it  is  a  psychological  demonstration." 

"But  the  fact  remained,"  said  Lidgerwood, 
sparing  himself  not  at  all.  "I  was  weighed  and 
found  wanting;  that  is  the  only  point  worth  con 
sidering.  " 

"Well?"  queried  Ford,  when  the  self-con 
demned  culprit  turned  again  to  the  dusk-darkened 
window,  "what  came  of  it  ?" 

"That  which  was  due  to  come.  I  was  told 
many  times  and  in  many  different  ways  what  the 
one  woman  thought  of  me.  For  the  few  days 
during  which  she  and  her  mother  waited  at  her 
father's  mine  for  the  coming  of  the  Yellowstone 
party,  she  used  me  for  a  door-mat,  as  I  deserved. 
That  was  a  year  ago  last  spring.  I  haven't  seen 
her  since;  haven't  tried  to." 

The  vice-president  reached  up  and  snapped  the 
key  of  the  electric  bulb  over  the  desk,  and  the 
lurking  shadows  in  the  corners  of  the  room  fled 
away. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said  shortly;  and  when  Lidger- 
16 


Collars-and-Cu£fs 

wood  had  found  a  chair:  "You  treat  it  as  an  inci 
dent  closed,  Howard.  Do  you  mean  to  go  on 
leaving  it  up  in  the  air  like  that  ?" 

"It  was  left  in  the  air  a  year  ago  last  spring.  I 
can't  pull  it  down  now." 

"Yes,  you  can.  You  haven't  exaggerated  the 
conditions  on  the  Red  Butte  line  an  atom.  As 
you  say,  the  operating  force  is  as  godless  a  lot  of 
outlaws  as  ever  ran  trains  or  ditched  them.  They 
all  know  that  the  road  has  been  bought  and  sold, 
and  that  pretty  sweeping  changes  are  impending. 
They  are  looking  for  trouble,  and  are  quite  ready 
to  help  make  it.  If  you  could  discharge  them  in 
a  body,  you  couldn't  replace  them — the  Red  Desert 
having  nothing  to  offer  as  a  dwelling-place  for  civ 
ilized  men;  and  this  they  know,  too.  Howard, 
I'm  telling  you  right  now  that  it  will  require  a 
higher  brand  of  courage  to  go  over  to  Angels  and 
manhandle  the  Red  Butte  Western  as  a  division 
of  the  P.  S-W.  than  it  would  to  face  a  dozen  high 
waymen,  if  every  individual  one  of  the  dozen  had 
the  drop  on  you!" 

Lidgerwood  left  his  chair  and  began  to  pace  the 
narrow  limits  of  the  private  office,  five  steps  and  a 
turn.  The  noisy  switching-engine  had  gone  clat 
tering  and  shrieking  down  the  yard  again  before 
he  said,  "You  mean  that  you  are  still  giving  me  the 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

chance  to   make  good   over  yonder  in   the   Red 
Desert — after  what  I  have  told  you?" 

"I  do;  only  I'll  make  it  more  binding.  It  was 
optional  with  you  before;  it's  a  sheer  necessity  now. 
You've  got  to  go." 

Again  Lidgerwood  took  time  to  reflect,  tramp 
ing  the  floor,  with  his  head  down  and  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  the  correct  coat.  In  the  end  he 
yielded,  as  the  vice-president's  subjects  commonly 
did. 

"I'll  go,  if  you  still  insist  upon  it,"  was  the 
slowly  spoken  decision.  "  There  will  doubtless 
be  plenty  of  trouble,  and  I  shall  probably  show  the 
yellow  streak — for  the  last  time,  perhaps.  It's  the 
kind  of  an  outfit  to  kill  a  coward  for  the  pure 
pleasure  of  it,  if  I'm  not  mistaken." 

"Well,"  said  the  man  in  the  swing-chair,  calmly, 
"maybe  you  need  a  little  killing,  Howard.  Had 
you  ever  thought  of  that?" 

A  gray  look  came  into  Lidgerwood 's  face. 

"Maybe  I  do." 

A  little  silence  supervened.  Then  Ford  plunged 
into  detail. 

"Now  that  you  are  fairly  committed,  sit  down 
and  let  me  give  you  an  idea  of  what  you'll  find  at 
Angels  in  the  way  of  a  head-quarters  outfit.  Draw 
up  here  and  we'll  go  over  the  lay-out  together. " 

18 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

A  busy  hour  had  elapsed,  and  the  gong  of  the 
station  dining-room  below  was  adding  its  raucous 
clamor  to  the  drumming  thunder  of  the  incoming 
train  from  Green  Butte,  when  the  vice-president 
concluded  his  outline  sketch  of  the  Red  Butte 
Western  conditions. 

"Of  course,  you  know  that  you  will  have  a  free 
hand.     We  have   already   cleared   the   decks   for 
you.     As  an  independent  road,  the  Red  Butte  line 
had  the  usual  executive  organization  in  miniature: 
Cumberley  had  the  title  of  general  superintendent, 
but  his  authority,  when  he  cared  to  assert  it,  was 
really  that  of  general  manager.     Under  him,  in 
the  head-quarters  staff  at  Angels,   there  was  an 
auditor — who  also  acted  as  paymaster,  a  general 
freight  and  passenger  agent,  and  a  superintendent 
of  motive  power.     Operating  the  line  as  a  branch 
of  the  P.  S-W  System,  we  can  simplify  the  organi 
zation.     We  have  consolidated  the  auditing  and 
traffic  departments  with  our  Colorado-lines  head 
quarters  at  Denver.     This  will  leave  you  with  only 
the  operating,  telegraph,  train-service,   and  engi 
neering  departments  to  handle  from  Angels.     With 
one  exception,  your  authority  will  be  absolute;  you 
will  hire  and  discharge  as  you  see  fit,  and  there  will 
be  no  appeal  from  your  decision." 

"That    applies    to   my   own  departments — the 

19 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

operating,  telegraph,  train-service,  and  engineer 
ing;  but  how  about  the  motive  power  ?"  asked  the 
new  incumbent. 

Ford  threw  down  the  desk-knife,  with  which  he 
had  been  sharpening  a  pencil,  with  a  little  gesture 
indicative  of  displeasure. 

"  There  lies  the  exception,  and  I  wish  it  didn't. 
Gridley,  the  master-mechanic,  will  be  nominally 
under  your  orders,  of  course;  but  if  it  should  come 
to  blows  between  you,  you  couldn't  fire  him.  In 
the  regular  routine  he  will  report  to  the  Colorado- 
lines  superintendent  of  motive  power  at  Denver. 
But  in  a  quarrel  with  you  he  could  make  a  still 
longer  arm  and  reach  the  P.  S-W.  board  of  directors 
in  New  York. 

"How  is  that?"    inquired  Lidgerwood. 

"It's  a  family  affair.  He  is  a  widower,  and  his 
wife  was  a  sister  of  the  Van  Kensingtons.  He 
got  his  job  through  the  family  influence,  and  he'll 
hold  it  in  the  same  way.  But  you  are  not  likely 
to  have  any  trouble  with  him.  He  is  a  brute  in 
his  own  peculiar  fashion;  but  when  it  comes  to 
handling  shopmen  and  keeping  the  engines  in 
service,  he  can't  be  beat." 

"That  is  all  I  shall  ask  of  him,"  said  the  new 
superintendent.  "Anything  else?"  looking  at 
his  watch. 

20 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

"Yes,  there  is  one  other  thing.  I  spoke  of  Hal- 
lock,  the  man  you  will  find  holding  down  the 
head-quarters  office  at  Angels.  He  was  Cum- 
berley's  chief  clerk,  and  long  before  Cumberley 
resigned  he  was  the  real  superintendent  of  the  Red 
Butte  Western  in  everything  but  the  title,  and  the 
place  on  the  pay-roll.  Naturally  he  thought  he 
ought  to  be  considered  when  we  climbed  into  the 
saddle,  and  he  has  already  written  to  President 
Brewster,  asking  for  the  promotion  in  fact.  He 
happens  to  be  a  New  Yorker — like  Gridley;  and, 
again  like  Gridley,  he  has  a  friend  at  court.  Mag 
nus  knows  him,  and  he  recommended  him  for  the 
superintendency  when  Mr.  Brewster  referred  the 
application  to  me.  I  couldn't  agree,  and  I  had  to 
turn  him  down.  I  am  telling  you  this  so  you'll 
be  easy  with  him — as  easy  as  you  can.  I  don't 
know  him  personally,  but  if  you  can  keep  him 


on 


"I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  keep  him,  if  he 
knows  his  business  and  will  stay,"  was  Lidger- 
wood's  reply.  Then,  with  another  glance  at  his 
watch,  "  Shall  we  go  up-town  and  get  dinner  ? 
Afterward  you  can  give  me  your  notion  in  the  large 
about  the  future  extension  of  the  road  across  the 
second  Timanyoni,  and  I'll  order  out  the  service- 
car  and  an  engine  and  go  to  my  place.  A  man 

21 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

can  die  but  once;  and  maybe  I  shall  contrive  to 
live  long  enough  to  set  a  few  stakes  for  some  better 
fellow  to  drive.  Let's  go. " 

At  ten  o'clock  that  night  Engine  266,  Williams, 
engineer,  and  Blackmar,  fireman,  was  chalked  up 
on  the  Red  Butte  Western  roundhouse  bulletin- 
board  to  go  west  at  midnight  with  the  new  su 
perintendent's  service-car,  running  as  a  special 
train. 

Svenson,  the  caller,  who  brought  the  order  from 
the  Copah  sub-despatcher's  office,  unloaded  his 
news  upon  the  circle  of  R.  B.  W.  engineers,  fire 
men,  and  roundhouse  roustabouts  lounging  on 
the  benches  in  the  tool-room  and  speculating  mo 
rosely  upon  the  probable  changes  which  the  new 
management  would  bring  to  pass. 

"Ve  bane  got  dem  new  boss,  Ay  vant  to  tal  you 
fallers,"  he  drawled. 

"Who  is  he?"  demanded  Williams,  who  had 
been  looking  on  sourly  while  the  engine-despatcher 
chalked  his  name  on  the  board  for  the  night  run 
with  the  service-car. 

"Ay  couldn't  tal  you  his  name.  Bote  he  is  dem 
young  faller  bane  goin'  'round  hare  dees  two, 
t'ree  days,  lukin'  lak  preacher  out  of  a  yob. 
Vouldn'd  dat  yar  you?" 

22 


Collars-and-Cuffs 

Williams  rose  up  to  his  full  height  of  six-feet-two, 
and  flung  his  hands  upward  in  a  gesture  that  was 
more  expressive  than  many  oaths. 

"Collars-and-Cuffs,  by  God!"   he  said. 


II 

THE    RED    DESERT 

IN  the  beginning  the  Red  Desert,  figuring  un- 
pronounceably  under  its  Navajo  name  of  Tse- 
nastci — Circle-of-Red-Stones — was  shunned  alike 
by  man  and  beast,  and  the  bravest  of  the  gold- 
hunters,  seeking  to  penetrate  to  the  placer  ground 
in  the  hill  gulches  between  the  twin  Timanyoni 
ranges,  made  a  hundred-mile  detour  to  avoid  it. 

Later,  the  discoveries  of  rich  "pocket"  deposits 
in  the  Red  Butte  district  lifted  the  intermontane 
hill  country  temporarily  to  the  high  plane  of  a 
bonanza  field.  In  the  rush  that  followed,  a  few 
prudent  ones  chose  the  longer  detour;  others, 
hardier  and  more  temerarious,  outfitted  at  Copah, 
and  assaulting  the  hill  barrier  of  the  Little  Pifions 
at  Crosswater  Gap,  faced  the  Jornada  through  the 
Land  of  Thirst. 

Of  these  earliest  of  the  desert  caravans,  the 
railroad  builders,  following  the  same  trail  and 
pointing  toward  the  same  destination  in  the  gold 
gulches,  found  dismal  reminders.  In  the  longest 

24 


The  Red  Desert 

of  the  thirsty  stretches  there  were  clean-picked 
skeletons,  and  they  were  not  always  the  relics  of 
the  patient  pack-animals.  In  which  event  Chan 
dler,  chief  of  the  Red  Butte  Western  construction, 
proclaimed  himself  Eastern-bred  and  a  tenderfoot 
by  compelling  the  grade  contractors  to  stop  and 
bury  them. 

Why  the  railroad  builders,  with  Copah  for  a 
starting-point  and  Red  Butte  for  a  terminus,  had 
elected  to  pitch  their  head-quarters  camp  in  the 
western  edge  of  the  desert,  no  later  comer  could 
ever  determine.  Lost,  also,  is  the  identity  of  the 
camp's  sponsor  who,  visioning  the  things  that 
were  to  be,  borrowed  from  the  California  pioneers 
and  named  the  halting-place  on  the  desert's  edge 
"Angels."  But  for  the  more  material  details 
Chandler  was  responsible.  It  was  he  who  laid  out 
the  division  yards  on  the  bald  plain  at  the  foot 
of  the  first  mesa,  planting  the  "Crow's  Nest" 
head-quarters  building  on  the  mesa  side  of  the 
gridironing  tracks,  and  scattering  the  shops  and 
repair  plant  along  the  opposite  boundary  of  the 
wide  right-of-way. 

The  town  had  followed  the  shops,  as  a  sheer  ne 
cessity.  First  and  always  the  railroad  nucleus, 
Angels  became  in  turn,  and  in  addition,  the  for 
warding  station  for  a  copper-mining  district  in  the 

25 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Timanyoni  foot-hills,  and  a  little  later,  when  a  few 
adventurous  cattlemen  had  discovered  that  the 
sun-cured  herbage  of  the  desert  borders  was  nu 
tritious  and  fattening,  a  stock-shipping  point.  But 
even  in  the  day  of  promise,  when  the  railroad  build 
ing  was  at  its  height  and  a  handful  of  promoters 
were  plotting  streets  and  town  lots  on  the  second 
mesa,  and  printing  glowing  tributes — for  strictly 
Eastern  distribution — to  the  dry  atmosphere  and 
the  unfailing  sunshine,  the  desert  leaven  was 
silently  at  work.  A  few  of  the  railroad  men  trans 
planted  their  families;  but  apart  from  these,  Angels 
was  a  man's  town  with  elemental  appetites,  and 
with  only  the  coarse  fare  of  the  frontier  fighting 
line  to  satisfy  them. 

Farther  along,  the  desert  came  more  definitely 
to  its  own.  The  rich  Red  Butte  "  pockets "  began 
to  show  signs  of  exhaustion,  and  the  gulch  and 
ore  mining  afforded  but  a  precarious  alternative 
to  the  thousands  who  had  gone  in  on  the  crest  of 
the  bonanza  wave.  Almost  as  tumultuously  as  it 
had  swept  into  the  hill  country,  the  tide  of  popula 
tion  swept  out.  For  the  gulch  hamlets  between 
the  Timanyonis  there  was  still  an  industrial  reason 
for  being;  but  the  railroad  languished,  and  Angels 
became  the  weir  to  catch  and  retain  many  of  the 
leavings,  the  driftwood  stranded  in  the  slack  water 

26 


The  Red  Desert 

of  the  outgoing  tide.  With  the  railroad,  the  Cop- 
perette  Mine,  and  the  "X-bar-Z"  pay-days  to 
bring  regularly  recurring  moments  of  flushness, 
and  with  every  alternate  door  in  Mesa  Avenue  the 
entrance  to  a  bar,  a  dance-hall,  a  gambling  den, 
or  the  three  in  combination,  the  elemental  appe 
tites  grew  avid,  and  the  hot  breath  of  the  desert 
fanned  slow  fires  of  brutality  that  ate  the  deeper 
when  they  penetrated  to  the  punk  heart  of  the 
driftwood. 

It  was  during  this  period  of  deflagration  and 
dry  rot  that  the  Eastern  owners  of  the  railroad  lost 
heart.  Since  the  year  of  the  Red  Butte  inrush 
there  had  been  no  dividends;  and  Chandler,  sum 
moned  from  another  battle  with  the  canyons  in  the 
far  Northwest,  was  sent  in  to  make  an  expert  re 
port  on  the  property.  "Sell  it  for  what  it  will 
bring,"  was  the  substance  of  Chandler's  advice; 
but  there  were  no  bidders,  and  from  this  time  on  a 
masterless  railroad  was  added  to  the  spoils  of  war 
—the  inexpiable  war  of  the  Red  Desert  upon  its 
invaders. 

At  the  moment  of  the  moribund  railroad's 
purchase  by  the  Pacific  Southwestern,  the  desert 
was  encroaching  more  and  more  upon  the  town 
planted  in  its  western  border.  In  the  height 
of  Angels's  prosperity  there  had  been  electric 

27 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

lights  and  a  one-car  street  tramway,  a  bank,  and 
a  Building  and  Loan  Association  attesting  its 
presence  in  rows  of  ornate  cottages  on  the  second 
mesa — alluring  bait  thrown  out  to  catch  the  po 
tential  savings  of  the  railroad  colonists. 

But  now  only  the  railroad  plant  was  electric- 
lighted;  the  single  ramshackle  street-car  had  been 
turned  into  a  chile-con- carne  stand;  the  bank,  un 
able  to  compete  with  the  faro  games  and  the  rou 
lette  wheels,  had  gone  into  liquidation;  the  Build 
ing  and  Loan  directors  had  long  since  looted  the 
treasury  and  sought  fresh  fields,  and  the  cottages 
were  chiefly  empty  shells. 

Of  the  charter  members  of  the  Building  and 
Loan  Association,  shrewdest  of  the  many  boom- 
time  schemes  for  the  separation  of  the  pay-roll  man 
from  his  money,  only  two  remained  as  residents  of 
Angels  the  decadent.  One  of  these  was  Gridley, 
the  master-mechanic,  and  the  other  was  Hallock, 
chief  clerk  for  a  diminishing  series  of  imported 
superintendents,  and  now  for  the  third  time  the 
disappointed  applicant  for  the  headship  of  the 
Red  Butte  Western. 

Associated  for  some  brief  time  in  the  real- 
estate  venture,  and  hailing  from  the  same  far 
away  Eastern  State  and  city,  these  two  had  been 
at  first  yoke-fellows,  and  afterward,  as  if  by  tacit 

28 


The  Red  Desert 

consent,  inert  enemies.  As  widely  separated  as 
the  poles  in  characteristics,  habits,  and  in  their 
outlook  upon  life,  they  had  little  in  common,  and 
many  antipathies. 

Gridley  was  a  large  man,  virile  of  face  and 
figure,  and  he  marched  in  the  ranks  of  the  full-fed 
and  the  self-indulgent.  Hallock  was  big-boned 
and  cadaverous  of  face,  but  otherwise  a  fair  physi 
cal  match  for  the  master-mechanic;  a  dark  man 
with  gloomy  eyes  and  a  permanent  frown.  Jo 
vial  good-nature  went  with  the  master-mechanic's 
gray  eyes  twinkling  easily  to  a  genial  smile,  but  it 
stopped  rather  abruptly  at  the  straight-lined,  sen 
sual  mouth,  and  found  a  second  negation  in  the 
brutal  jaw  which  was  only  thinly  masked  by  the 
neatly  trimmed  beard.  Hallock's  smile  was  bit 
ter,  and  if  he  had  a  social  side  no  one  in  Angels 
had  ever  discovered  it.  In  a  region  where  fel 
lowship  in  some  sort,  if  it  were  only  that  of  the 
bottle  and  the  card-table,  was  any  man's  for 
the  taking,  he  was  a  hermit,  an  ascetic;  and 
his  attitude  toward  others,  all  others,  so  far  as 
Angels  knew,  was  that  of  silent  and  morose 
ferocity. 

It  was  in  an  upper  room  of  the  "Crow's  Nest" 
head-quarters  building  that  these  two,  the  master- 
mechanic  and  the  acting  superintendent,  met  late 

29 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

in  the  evening  of  the  day  when  Vice-President 
Ford  had  kept  his  appointment  in  Copah  with 
Lidgerwood. 

Gridley,  clad  like  a  gentleman,  and  tilting  com 
fortably  in  his  chair  as  he  smoked  a  cigar  that 
neither  love  nor  money  could  have  bought  in 
Angels,  was  jocosely  sarcastic.  Hallock,  shirt- 
sleeved,  unkempt,  and  with  the  permanent  frown 
deepening  the  furrow  between  his  eyes,  neither 
tilted  nor  smoked. 

"They  tell  me  you  have  missed  the  step  up 
again,  Hallock,"  said  the  smoker  lazily,  when  the 
purely  technical  matter  that  had  brought  him  to 
Hallock's  office  had  been  settled. 

"Who  tells  you?"  demanded  the  other;  and  a 
listener,  knowing  neither,  would  have  remarked  the 
curious  similarity  of  the  grating  note  in  both  voices 
as  infallibly  as  a  student  of  human  nature  would 
have  contrasted  the  two  men  in  every  other  per 
sonal  characteristic. 

"I  don't  remember,"  said  Gridley,  good-nat 
uredly  refusing  to  commit  his  informant,  "but 
it's  on  the  wires.  Vice-President  Ford  is  in 
Copah,  and  the  new  superintendent  is  with 
him." 

Hallock  leaned  forward  in  his  chair. 

"Who  is  the  new  man  ?"   he  asked. 

30 


The  Red  Desert 

"  Nobody  seems  to  know  him  by  name.  But  he 
is  a  friend  of  Ford's  all  right.  That  is  how  he  gets 
the  job." 

Hallock  took  a  plug  of  black  tobacco  from  his 
pocket,  and  cut  a  small  sliver  from  it  for  a  chew. 
It  was  his  one  concession  to  appetite,  and  he  made 
it  grudgingly. 

"A  college  man,  I  suppose,"  he  commented. 
"Otherwise  Ford  wouldn't  be  backing  him." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  guess  it's  safe  to  count  on  that." 

"And  a  man  who  will  carry  out  the  Ford  policy  ?" 

Gridley's  eyes  smiled,  but  lower  down  on  his 
face  the  smile  became  a  cynical  baring  of  the  strong 
teeth. 

"A  man  who  may  try  to  carry  out  the  Ford  idea," 
he  qualified;  adding,  "The  desert  will  get  hold  of 
him  and  eat  him  alive,  as  it  has  the  others." 

"Maybe,"  said  Hallock  thoughtfully.  Then, 
with  sudden  heat,  "It's  hell,  Gridley!  I've  hung 
on  and  waited  and  done  the  work  for  their 
figure-heads,  one  after  another.  The  job  belongs 
to  me!" 

This  time  Gridley's  smile  was  a  thinly  veiled 
sneer. 

"What  makes  you  so  keen  for  it,  Hallock  ?"  he 
asked.  "You  have  no  use  for  the  money,  and 
still  less  for  the  title. " 

31 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"How  do  you  know  I  don't  want  the  salary?" 
snapped  the  other.  "Because  I  don't  have  my 
clothes  made  in  New  York,  or  blow  myself  across 
the  tables  in  Mesa  Avenue,  does  it  go  without  say 
ing  that  I  have  no  use  for  money  ?" 

"But  you  haven't,  you  know  you  haven't,"  was 
the  taunting  rejoinder.  "And  the  title,  when  you 
have,  and  have  always  had,  the  real  authority, 
means  still  less  to  you. " 

"Authority!"  scoffed  the  chief  clerk,  his  gloomy 
eyes  lighting  up  with  slow  fire,  "  this  maverick  rail 
road  don't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word.  By 
God !  Gridley,  if  I  had  the  club  in  my  hands  for  a 
few  months  I'd  show  'em!" 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  said  the  cigar-smoker  easily. 
"  You're  not  built  right  for  it,  Hallock;  the  desert 
would  give  you  the  horse-laugh." 

"  Would  it  ?  Not  before  I  had  squared  off  a  few 
old  debts,  Gridley;  don't  you  forget  that." 

There  was  a  menace  in  the  harsh  retort,  and  the 
chief  clerk  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  it. 

"Threatening,  are  you?"  jeered  the  full-fed 
one,  still  good-naturedly  sarcastic.  "What  would 
you  do,  if  you  had  the  chance,  Rankin  ?" 

"I'd  kill  out  some  of  the  waste  and  recklessness, 
if  it  took  the  last  man  off  the  pay-rolls;  and  I'd 
break  even  with  at  least  one  man  over  in  the  Ti- 

32 


The  Red  Desert 

manyoni,  if  I  had  to  use  the  whole  Red  Butte 
Western  to  pry  him  loose!" 

"Flemister  again?"  queried  the  master-me 
chanic.  And  then,  in  mild  deprecation,  "You  are 
a  bad  loser,  Hallock,  a  damned  bad  loser.  But  I 
suppose  that  is  one  of  your  limitations." 

A  silence  settled  down  upon  the  upper  room, 
but  Gridley  made  no  move  to  go.  Out  in  the 
yards  the  night  men  were  making  up  a  westbound 
freight,  and  the  crashing  of  box-cars  carelessly 
"kicked"  into  place  added  its  note  to  the  discord 
of  inefficiency  and  destructive  breakage. 

Over  in  the  town  a  dance-hall  piano  was  jan 
gling,  and  the  raucous  voice  of  the  dance-master 
calling  the  figures  came  across  to  the  Crow's  Nest 
curiously  like  the  barking  of  a  distant  dog.  Sud 
denly  the  barking  voice  stopped,  and  the  piano 
clamor  ended  futilely  in  an  aimless  tinkling.  For 
climax  a  pistol-shot  rang  out,  followed  by  a  scat 
tering  volley.  It  was  a  precise  commentary  on 
the  time  and  the  place  that  neither  of  the  two 
men  in  the  head-quarters  upper  room  gave  heed 
to  the  pistol-shots,  or  to  the  yelling  uproar  that 
accompanied  them. 

It  was  after  the  shouting  had  died  away  in  a  con 
fused  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  the  pistol  cracklings  were 
coming  only  at  intervals  and  from  an  increasing 

33 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

distance,  that  the  corridor  door  opened  and  the 
night  despatched  off-trick  man  came  in  with  a 
message  for  Hallock. 

It  was  a  mere  routine  notification  from  the  line- 
end  operator  at  Copah,  and  the  chief  clerk  read  it 
sullenly  to  the  master-mechanic. 

"Engine  266,  Williams,  engineer,  and  Blackmar, 
fireman,  with  service-car  Naught-One,  Bradford, 
conductor,  will  leave  Copah  at  12:01  A.M.,  and 
run  special  to  Angels.  By  order  of  Howard 
Lidgerwood,  General  Superintendent." 

Gridley's  pivot-chair  righted  itself  with  a  snap. 
But  he  waited  until  the  off-trick  man  was  gone 
before  he  said,  "Lidgerwood!  Well,  by  all  the 
gods!"  then,  with  a  laugh  that  was  more  than 
half  a  snarl,  "There  is  a  chance  for  you  yet, 
Rankin." 

"Why,  do  you  know  him  ?" 

"No,  but  I  know  something  about  him.  I've 
got  a  line  on  New  York,  the  same  as  you  have,  and 
I  get  a  hint  now  and  then.  I  knew  that  Lidger 
wood  had  been  considered  for  the  place,  but  I  was 
given  to  understand  that  he  would  refuse  the  job 
if  it  were  offered  to  him. " 

"Why  should  he  refuse?"  demanded  Hallock. 

"That  is  where  my  wire-tapper  fell  down;  he 
couldn't  tell." 

34 


The  Red  Desert 

"Then  why  do  you  say  there  is  still  a  chance  for 
me?" 

"  Oh,  on  general  principles,  I  guess.  If  it  was 
an  even  break  that  he  would  refuse,  it  is  still  more 
likely  that  he  won't  stay  after  he  has  seen  what  he 
is  up  against,  don't  you  think?" 

Hallock  did  not  say  what  he  thought.  He 
rarely  did. 

"Of  course,  you  made  inquiries  about  him 
when  you  found  out  he  was  a  possible;  I'd  trust 
you  to  do  that,  Gridley.  What  do  you  know?" 

"Not  much  that  you  can  use.  He  is  out  of  the 
Middle  West;  a  young  man  and  a  graduate  of 
Purdue.  He  took  the  Civil  degree,  but  stayed  two 
years  longer  and  romped  through  the  Mechanical. 
He  ought  to  be  pretty  well  up  on  theory,  you'd  say." 

"Theory  be  damned!"  snapped  the  chief  clerk. 
"What  he'll  need  in  the  Red  Desert  will  be  nerve 
and  a  good  gun.  If  he  has  the  nerve,  he  can  buy 
the  gun." 

"  But  having  the  gun  he  couldn't  always  be 
sure  of  buying  the  nerve,  eh  ?  I  guess  you  are 
right,  Rankin;  you  usually  are  when  you  can  for 
get  to  be  vindictive.  And  that  brings  us  around 
to  the  jumping-ofF  place  again.  Of  course,  you 
will  stay  on  with  the  new  man — if  he  wants  you 
to?" 

35 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"I  don't  know.  That  is  my  business,  and  none 
of  yours." 

It  was  a  bid  for  a  renewal  of  the  quarrel  which 
was  never  more  than  half  veiled  between  these 
two.  But  Gridley  did  not  lift  the  challenge. 

"Let  it  go  at  that,"  he  said  placably.  "But  if 
you  should  decide  to  stay,  I  want  you  to  let  up 
on  Flemister." 

The  morose  antagonism  died  out  of  Hallock's 
eyes,  and  in  its  place  came  craft. 

"I'd  kill  Flemister  on  sight,  if  I  had  the  sand; 
you  know  that,  Gridley.  Some  day  it  may  come 
to  that.  But  in  the  meantime— 

"In  the  meantime  you  have  been  snapping  at 
his  heels  like  a  fice-dog,  Hallock;  holding  out  ore- 
cars  on  him,  delaying  his  coal  supplies,  stirring 
up  trouble  with  his  miners.  That  was  all  right, 
up  to  yesterday.  But  now  it  has  got  to  stop." 

"Not  for  any  orders  that  you  can  give,"  re 
torted  the  chief  clerk,  once  more  opening  the  door 
for  the  quarrel. 

The  master-mechanic  got  up  and  flicked  the 
cigar  ash  from  his  coat-sleeve  with  a  handkerchief 
that  was  fine  enough  to  be  a  woman's. 

"I  am  not  going  to  come  to  blows  with  you. 
Rankin— not  if  I  can  help  it,"  he  said,  with  his 
hand  on  the  door-knob.  "  But  what  I  have  said 

36 


The  Red  Desert 

will  have  to  go  as  it  lies.  Shoot  Flemister  out  of 
hand,  if  you  feel  like  it,  but  quit  hampering  his 
business." 

Hallock  stood  up,  and  when  he  was  on  his  feet 
his  big  frame  made  him  look  still  more  a  fair 
match  physically  for  the  handsome  master- 
mechanic. 

"Why?"  The  single  word  shot  out  of  the 
loose-lipped  mouth  like  an  explosive  bullet. 

Gridley  opened  the  door  and  turned  upon  the 
threshold. 

"I  might  borrow  the  word  from  you  and  say 
that  Flemister's  business  and  mine  are  none  of 
yours.  But  I  won't  do  that.  I'll  merely  say  that 
Flemister  may  need  a  little  Red  Butte  Western 
nursing  in  the  Ute  Valley  irrigation  scheme  he  is 
promoting,  and  I  want  you  to  see  that  he  gets  it. 
You  may  take  that  as  a  word  to  the  wise,  or  as  a 
kicked-in  hint  to  a  blind  mule;  whichever  you 
please.  You  can't  afford  to  fight  me,  Hallock, 
and  you  know  it.  Sleep  on  it  a  few  hours,  and 
you'll  see  it  in  that  way,  I'm  sure.  Good-night. " 


37 


Ill 

A    LITTLE    BROTHER   OF   THE    COWS 

CROSSWATER  GAP,  so  named  because  the 
high  pass  over  which  the  railroad  finds  its 
way  is  anything  but  a  gap,  and,  save  when  the 
winter  snows  are  melting,  there  is  no  water  within 
a  day's  march,  was  in  sight  from  the  loopings  of 
the  eastern  approach.  Lidgerwood,  scanning  the 
grades  as  the  service-car  swung  from  tangent  to 
curve  and  curve  to  tangent  up  the  steep  inclines, 
was  beginning  to  think  of  breakfast.  The  morn 
ing  air  was  crisp  and  bracing,  and  he  had  been 
getting  the  full  benefit  of  it  for  an  hour  or  more, 
sitting  under  the  umbrella  roof  at  the  observation 
end  of  the  car. 

With  the  breakfast  thought  came  the  thing  itself, 
or  the  invitation  to  it.  As  a  parting  kindness  the 
night  before,  Ford  had  transferred  one  of  the 
cooks  from  his  own  private  car  to  Lidgerwood 's 
service,  and  the  little  man,  Tadasu  Matsuwari  by 
name,  and  a  subject  of  the  Mikado  by  race  and 

38 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

birth,  came  to  the  car  door  to  call  his  new  em 
ployer  to  the  table. 

It  was  an  attractive  table,  well  appointed  and 
well  served;  but  Lidgerwood,  temperamentally 
single-eyed  in  all  things,  was  diverted  from  his  re 
organization  problem  for  the  moment  only.  Since 
early  dawn  he  had  been  up  and  out  on  the  observa 
tion  platform,  noting,  this  time  with  the  eye  of 
mastership,  the  physical  condition  of  the  road; 
the  bridges,  the  embankments,  the  cross-ties,  the 
miles  of  steel  unreeling  under  the  drumming 
trucks,  and  the  object-lesson  was  still  fresh  in  his 
mind. 

To  a  disheartening  extent,  the  Red  Butte  de 
moralization  had  involved  the  permanent  way. 
Originally  a  good  track,  with  heavy  steel,  easy 
grades  compensated  for  the  curves,  and  a  mathe 
matical  alignment,  the  roadbed  and  equipment 
had  been  allowed  to  fall  into  disrepair  under  in 
different  supervision  and  the  short-handing  of  the 
section  gangs — always  an  impractical  directory's 
first  retrenchment  when  the  dividends  begin  to  fail. 
Lidgerwood  had  seen  how  the  ballast  had  been 
suffered  to  sink  at  the  rail-joints,  and  he  had  read 
the  record  of  careless  supervision  at  each  fresh 
swing  of  the  train,  since  it  is  the  section  foreman's 
weakness  to  spoil  the  geometrical  curve  by  work- 

39 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

ing  it  back,  little  by  little,  into  the  adjoining 
tangent. 

Reflecting  upon  these  things,  Lidgerwood's  com 
ment  fell  into  speech  over  his  cup  of  coffee  and 
crisp  breakfast  bacon. 

"About  the  first  man  we  need  is  an  engineer 
who  won't  be  too  exalted  to  get  down  and  squint 
curves  with  the  section  bosses,"  he  mused,  and 
from  that  on  he  was  searching  patiently  through 
the  memory  card-index  for  the  right  man. 

At  the  summit  station,  where  the  line  leaves  the 
Pannikin  basin  to  plunge  into  the  western  desert, 
there  was  a  delay.  Lidgerwood  was  still  at  the 
breakfast-table  when  Bradford,  the  conductor, 
black-shirted  and  looking,  in  his  slouch  hat  and 
riding-leggings,  more  like  a  horse-wrangler  than  a 
captain  of  railroad  trains,  lounged  in  to  explain 
that  there  was  a  hot  box  under  the  266*5  tender. 
Bradford  was  not  of  any  faction  of  discontent,  but 
the  spirit  of  morose  insubordination,  born  of  the 
late  change  in  management,  was  in  the  air,  and  he 
spoke  gruffly.  Hence,  with  the  flint  and  steel  thus 
provided,  the  spark  was  promptly  evoked. 

"Were  the  boxes  properly  overhauled  before  you 
left  Copah  ?"  demanded  the  new  boss. 

Bradford  did  not  know,  and  the  manner  of  his 
answer  implied  that  he  did  not  care.  And  for 

40 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

good  measure  he  threw  in  an  intimation  that  round 
house  dope  kettles  were  not  in  his  line. 

Lidgerwood  passed  over  the  large  impudence 
and  held  to  the  matter  in  hand. 

"How  much  time  have  we  on  201  ?"  he  asked, 
Train  201  being  the  westbound  passenger  over 
taken  and  left  behind  in  the  small  hours  of  the 
morning  by  the  lighter  and  faster  special. 

"Thirty  minutes,  here/'  growled  the  little 
brother  of  the  cows;  after  which  he  took  himself 
off  as  if  he  considered  the  incident  sufficiently 
closed. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Lidgerwood  finished  his 
breakfast  and  went  back  to  his  camp-chair  on  the 
observation  platform  of  the  service-car.  A  glance 
over  the  side  rail  showed  him  his  train  crew  still 
working  on  the  heated  axle-bearing.  Another  to 
the  rear  picked  up  the  passenger-train  storming 
around  the  climbing  curves  of  the  eastern  ap 
proach  to  the  summit.  There  was  a  small  prob 
lem  impending  for  the  division  despatcher  at 
Angels,  and  the  new  superintendent  held  aloof  to 
see  how  it  would  be  handled. 

It  was  handled  rather  indifferently.  The  pas 
senger-train  was  pulling  in  over  the  summit 
switches  when  Bradford,  sauntering  into  the  tele 
graph  office  as  if  haste  were  the  last  thing  in  the 

41 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

world  to  be  considered,  asked  for  his  clearance 
card,  got  it,  and  gave  Williams  the  signal  to  go. 

Lidgerwood  got  up  and  went  into  the  car  to  con 
sult  the  time-table  hanging  in  the  office  com 
partment.  Train  201  had  no  dead  time  at  Cross- 
water;  hence,  if  the  ten-minute  interval  between 
trains  of  the  same  class  moving  in  the  same  direction 
was  to  be  preserved,  the  passenger  would  have 
to  be  held. 

The  assumption  that  the  passenger-train  would 
be  held  aroused  all  the  railroad  martinet's  fury  in 
the  new  superintendent.  In  Lidgerwood's  cal 
endar,  time-killing  on  regular  trains  stood  next  to 
an  infringement  of  the  rules  providing  for  the  safety 
of  life  and  property.  His  hand  was  on  the  signal- 
cord  when,  chancing  to  look  back,  he  saw  that  the 
passenger-train  had  made  only  the  momentary 
time-card  stop  at  the  summit  station,  and  was  com 
ing  on. 

This  turned  the  high  crime  into  a  mere  breach 
of  discipline,  common  enough  even  on  well- 
managed  railroads  when  the  leading  train  can  be 
trusted  to  increase  the  distance  interval.  But 
again  the  martinet  in  Lidgerwood  protested.  It 
was  his  theory  that  rules  were  made  to  be  ob 
served,  and  his  experience  had  proved  that  little 
infractions  paved  the  way  for  great  ones.  In  the 

42 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

present  instance,  however,  it  was  too  late  to  inter 
fere;  so  he  drew  a  chair  out  in  line  with  one  of  the 
rear  observation  windows  and  sat  down  to  mark 
the  event. 

Pitching  over  the  hilltop  summit,  within  a  minute 
of  each  other,  the  two  trains  raced  down  the  first 
few  curving  inclines  almost  as  one.  Mile  after 
mile  was  covered,  and  still  the  perilous  situation  re 
mained  unchanged.  Down  the  short  tangents 
and  around  the  constantly  recurring  curves  the 
special  seemed  to  be  towing  the  passenger  at  the 
end  of  an  invisible  but  dangerously  short  drag- 
rope. 

Lidgerwood  began  to  grow  uneasy.  On  the 
straight-line  stretches  the  following  train  appeared 
to  be  rushing  onward  to  an  inevitable  rear-end 
collision  with  the  one-car  special;  and  where  the 
track  swerved  to  right  or  left  around  the  hills,  the 
pursuing  smoke  trail  rose  above  the  intervening 
hill-shoulders  near  and  threatening.  With  the 
parts  of  a  great  machine  whirling  in  unison  and 
nicely  timed  to  escape  destruction,  a  small  accident 
to  a  single  cog  may  spell  disaster. 

Lidgerwood  left  his  chair  and  went  again  to  con 
sult  the  time-table.  A  brief  comparison  of  miles 
with  minutes  explained  the  effect  without  excus 
ing  the  cause.  Train  2Oi's  schedule  from  the 

43 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

summit  station  to  the  desert  level  was  very  fast; 
and  Williams,  nursing  his  hot  box,  either  could 
not,  or  would  not,  increase  his  lead. 

At  first,  Lidgerwood,  anticipating  rebellion,  was 
inclined  to  charge  the  hazardous  situation  to  in 
tention  on  the  part  of  his  own  train  crew.  Having 
a  good  chance  to  lie  out  of  it  if  they  were  accused, 
Williams  and  Bradford  might  be  deliberately  try 
ing  the  nerve  of  the  new  boss.  The  presumption 
did  not  breed  fear;  it  bred  wrath,  hot  and  vindic 
tive.  Two  sharp  tugs  at  the  signal-cord  brought 
Bradford  from  the  engine.  The  memory  of  the 
conductor's  gruff  replies  and  easy  impudence  was 
fresh  enough  to  make  Lidgerwood's  reprimand 
harsh. 

"Do  you  call  this  railroading?"  he  rasped, 
pointing  backward  to  the  menace.  "Don't  you 
know  that  we  are  on  20i's  time?" 

Bradford  scowled  in  surly  antagonism. 

"That  blamed  hot  box —  "  he  began,  but  Lidger 
wood  cut  him  off  short. 

"The  hot  box  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case. 
You  are  not  hired  to  take  chances,  or  to  hold  out 
regular  trains.  Go  forward  and  tell  your  engineer 
to  speed  up  and  get  out  of  the  way. " 

"I  got  my  clearance  at  the  summit,  and  I  ain't 
despatchin'  trains  on  this  jerk-water  railroad," 

44 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

observed  the  conductor  coolly.  Then  he  added, 
with  a  shade  less  of  the  belligerent  disinterest: 
"Williams  can't  speed  up.  That  housin'  under 
the  tender  is  about  ready  to  blaze  up  and  set  the 
woods  afire  again,  right  now." 

Once  more  Lidgerwood  turned  to  the  time-card. 
It  was  twenty  miles  farther  along  to  the  next  tele 
graph  station,  and  he  heaped  up  wrath  against  the 
day  of  wrath  in  store  for  a  despatcher  who  would 
recklessly  turn  two  trains  loose  and  out  of  his  reach 
under  such  critical  conditions,  for  thirty  hazardous 
mountain  miles. 

Bradford,  looking  on  sullenly,  mistook  the  new 
boss's  frown  for  more  to  follow,  with  himself  for 
the  target,  and  was  moving  away.  Lidgerwood 
pointed  to  a  chair  with  a  curt,  "Sit  down!"  and 
the  conductor  obeyed  reluctantly. 

"You  say  you  have  your  clearance  card,  and 
that  you  are  not  despatching  trains,"  he  went  on 
evenly,  "  but  neither  fact  relieves  you  of  your  re 
sponsibility.  It  was  your  duty  to  make  sure  that 
the  despatcher  fully  understood  the  situation  at 
Crosswater,  and  to  refuse  to  pull  out  ahead  of  the 
passenger  without  something  more  definite  than  a 
formal  permit.  Weren't  you  taught  that  ?  Where 
did  you  learn  to  run  trains  ?" 

It  was  an  opening  for  hard  words,  but  the  con- 

45 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

ductor  let  it  pass.  Something  in  the  steady, 
business-like  tone,  or  in  the  shrewdly  appraisive 
eyes,  turned  Bradford  the  potential  mutineer  into 
Bradford  the  possible  partisan. 

"I  reckon  we  are  needing  a  rodeo  over  here  on 
this  jerk-water  mighty  bad,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,"  he 
said,  half  humorously.  "Take  us  coming  and 
going,  about  half  of  us  never  had  the  sure-enough 
railroad  brand  put  onto  us,  nohow.  But,  Lord  love 
you!  this  little  pasear  we're  making  down  this  hill 
ain't  anything!  That's  the  old  210  chasin'  us 
with  the  passenger,  and  she  couldn't  catch  Bat 
Williams  and  the  '66  in  a  month  o'  Sundays  if  we 
didn't  have  that  doggoned  spavined  leg  under  the 
tender.  She  sure  couldn't." 

Lidgerwood  smiled  in  spite  of  his  annoyance, 
and  wondered  at  what  page  in  the  railroad  primer 
he  would  have  to  begin  in  teaching  these  men  of 
the  camps  and  the  round-ups. 

"But  it  isn't  railroading,"  he  insisted,  meeting 
his  first  pupil  half-way,  and  as  man  to  man.  "You 
might  do  this  thing  ninety-nine  times  without  pay 
ing  for  it,  and  the  hundredth  time  something  would 
turn  up  to  slow  or  to  stop  the  leading  train,  and 
there  you  are." 

"Sure!"  said  the  ex-cowboy,  quite  heartily. 
"Now,  if  there  should  happen  to  be— 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  The  special, 
lagging  a  little  now  in  deference  to  the  smoking 
hot  box,  was  rounding  one  of  the  long  hill  curves 
to  the  left.  Suddenly  the  air-brakes  ground 
sharply  upon  the  wheels,  shrill  whistlings  from  the 
266  sounded  the  stop  signal,  and  past  the  end  of 
the  slowing  service-car  a  trackman  ran  frantically 
up  the  line  toward  the  following  passenger,  yelling 
and  swinging  his  stripped  coat  like  a  madman. 

Lidgerwood  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a 
section  gang's  green  "slow"  flag  lying  toppled 
over  between  the  rails  a  hundred  feet  to  the  rear. 
Measuring  the  distance  of  the  onrushing  pas 
senger-train  against  the  life-saving  seconds  re 
maining,  he  called  to  Bradford  to  jump,  and  then 
ran  forward  to  drag  the  Japanese  cook  out  of  his 
galley. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  moment.  There  was  time 
enough  for  Lidgerwood  to  rush  the  little  Tadasu 
to  the  forward  vestibule,  to  fling  him  into  space, 
and  to  make  his  own  flying  leap  for  safety  before 
the  crisis  came.  Happily  there  was  no  wreck, 
though  the  margin  of  escape  was  the  narrowest. 
Williams  stuck  to  his  post  in  the  cab  of  the  266, 
applying  and  releasing  the  brakes,  and  running 
as  far  ahead  as  he  dared  upon  the  loosened  timbers 
of  the  culvert,  for  which  the  section  gang's  slow- 

47 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

flag  was  out.  Carter,  the  engineer  on  the  pas 
senger-train,  jumped;  but  his  fireman  was  of  better 
mettle  and  stayed  with  the  machine,  sliding  the 
wheels  with  the  driver-jams,  and  pumping  sand 
on  the  rails  up  to  the  moment  when  the  shuddering 
mass  of  iron  and  steel  thrust  its  pilot  under  the 
trucks  of  Lidgerwood's  car,  lifted  them,  dropped 
them,  and  drew  back  sullenly  in  obedience  to  the 
pull  of  the  reverse  and  the  recoil  of  the  brake 
mechanism. 

It  was  an  excellent  opportunity  for  eloquence 
of  the  explosive  sort,  and  when  the  dust  had  set 
tled  the  track  and  trainmen  were  evidently  ex 
pecting  the  well-deserved  tongue-lashing.  But  in 
crises  like  this  the  new  superintendent  was  at  his 
self-contained  best.  Instead  of  swearing  at  the 
men,  he  gave  his  orders  quietly  and  with  the  brisk 
certainty  of  one  who  knows  his  trade.  The  pas 
senger-train  was  to  keep  ten  minutes  behind  its 
own  time  until  the  next  siding  was  passed,  making 
up  beyond  that  point  if  its  running  orders  per 
mitted.  The  special  was  to  proceed  on  201 's  time 
to  the  siding  in  question,  at  which  point  it  would 
side-track  and  let  the  passenger  precede  it. 

Bradford  was  in  the  cab  of  266  when  Williams 
eased  his  engine  and  the  service-car  over  the  un 
safe  culvert,  and  inched  the  throttle  open  for  the 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

speeding  race  down  the  hill  curves  toward  the  wide 
valley  plain  of  the  Red  Desert. 

"Turn  it  loose,  Andy,"  said  the  big  engineman, 
when  the  requisite  number  of  miles  of  silence  had 
been  ticked  off  by  the  space-devouring  wheels. 
"What-all  do  you  think  of  Mister  Collars-and- 
Cuffs  by  this  time?" 

Bradford  took  a  leisurely  minute  to  whittle  a 
chewing  cube  from  his  pocket  plug  of  hard-times 
tobacco. 

"Well,  first  dash  out  o'  the  box,  I  allowed  he  was 
some  locoed;  he  jumped  me  like  a  jack-rabbit  for 
takin'  a  clearance  right  under  Jim  Carter's  nose 
that-a-way.  Then  we  got  down  to  business,  and 
I  was  just  beginning  to  get  onto  his  gait  a  little 
when  the  green  flag  butted  in." 

"Gait  fits  the  laundry  part  of  him  ?"  suggested 
Williams. 

"  It  does  and  it  don't.  I  ain't  much  on  systems 
and  sure  things,  Bat,  but  I  can  make  out  to  guess 
a  guess,  once  in  a  while,  when  I  have  to.  If  that 
little  tailor-made  man  don't  get  his  finger  mashed, 
or  something,  and  have  to  go  home  and  get  some 
body  to  poultice  it,  things  are  goin'  to  have  a  spell 
of  happenings  on  this  little  old  cow-trail  of  a  rail 
road.  That's  my  ante. " 

"What  sort  of  things  ?"    demanded  Williams. 

49 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"  When  it  comes  to  that,  your  guess  is  as  good  as 
mine,  but  they'll  spell  trouble  for  the  amatoors  and 
the  trouble-makers,  I  reckon.  I  ain't  placin'  any 
bets  yet,  but  that's  about  the  way  it  stacks  up  to 


me." 


Williams  let  the  266  out  another  notch,  hung  out 
of  his  window  to  look  back  at  the  smoking  hot 
box,  and,  in  the  complete  fulness  of  time,  said, 
"Think  he's  got  the  sand,  Andy  ?" 

"This  time  you've  got  me  goin', "  was  the  slow 
reply.  "Sizing  him  up  one  side  and  down  the 
other  when  he  called  me  back  to  pull  my  ear,  I 
said,  'No,  my  young  bronco-buster;  you're  a  bluff 
er — the  kind  that'll  put  up  both  hands  right  quick 
when  the  bluff  is  called. '  Afterward,  I  wasn't  so 
blamed  sure.  One  kind  o'  sand  he's  got,  to  a  dead 
moral  certainty.  When  he  saw  what  was  due  to 
happen  back  yonder  at  the  culvert,  he  told  me 
'23,'  all  right,  but  he  took  time  to  hike  up  ahead 
and  yank  that  Jap  cook  out  o'  the  car-kitchen  be 
fore  he  turned  his  own  little  handspring  into  the 
ditch." 

The  big  engineer  nodded,  but  he  was  still  un 
convinced  when  he  made  the  stop  for  the  siding  at 
Last  Chance.  After  the  fireman  had  dropped  off 
to  set  the  switch  for  the  following  train,  Williams 
put  the  unconvincement  into  words. 

50 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

"That  kind  of  sand  is  all  right  in  God's  country, 
Andy,  but  out  here  in  the  nearer  edges  of  hell  you 
got  to  know  how  to  fight  with  pitchforks  and  such 
other  tools  as  come  handy.  The  new  boss  may  be 
that  kind  of  a  scrapper,  but  he  sure  don't  look  it. 
You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  men  like  Rufford 
and  'Cat'  Biggs  and  Red-Light  Sammy'll  eat 
him  alive,  just  for  the  fun  of  it,  if  he  can't 
make  out  to  throw  lead  quicker'n  they  can.  And 
that  ain't  saying  anything  about  the  hobo  outfit 
he'll  have  to  go  up  against  on  this  make-b'lieve 
railroad." 

"No,"  agreed  Bradford,  ruminating  thought 
fully.  And  then,  by  way  of  rounding  out  the  sub 
ject:  "Here's  hopin'  his  nerve  is  as  good  as  his 
clothes.  I  don't  love  a  Mongolian  any  better'n 
you  do,  Bat,  but  the  way  he  hustled  to  save  that 
little  brown  man's  skin  sort  o'  got  next  to  me;  it 
sure  did.  Says  I,  'A  man  that'll  do  that  won't  go 
round  hunting  a  chance  to  kick  a  fice-dog  just 
because  the  fice  don't  happen  to  be  a  blooded  bull- 


terrier.' 


Williams,  brawny  and  broad-chested,  leaned 
against  his  box,  his  bare  arms  folded  and  his  short 
pipe  at  the  disputatious  angle. 

"He'd  better  have  nerve,  or  get  some,"  he  com 
mented.  "T'otherways  it's  him  for  an  early 

51 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

wooden  overcoat  and  a  trip  back  home  in  the 
express-car.  After  which,  let  me  tell  you,  Andy, 
that  man  Ford'll  sift  this  cussed  country  through  a 
flour-shaker  but  what  he'll  cinch  the  outfit  that 
does  it.  You  write  that  out  in  your  car-report." 

Back  in  the  service-car  Lidgerwood  was  sitting 
quietly  in  the  doorway,  smoking  his  delayed  after- 
breakfast  cigar,  and  timing  the  up-coming  passen 
ger-train,  watch  in  hand.  Carter  was  ten  minutes, 
to  the  exact  second,  behind  his  schedule  time  when 
the  train  thundered  past  on  the  main  track,  and 
Lidgerwood  pocketed  his  watch  with  a  smile  of 
satisfaction.  It  was  the  first  small  victory  in  the 
campaign  for  reform. 

Later,  however,  when  the  special  was  once  more 
in  motion  westward,  the  desert  laid  hold  upon  him 
with  the  grip  which  first  benumbs,  then  breeds 
dull  rage,  and  finally  makes  men  mad.  Mile  after 
mile  the  glistening  rails  sped  backward  into  a  shim 
mering  haze  of  red  dust.  The  glow  of  the  breath 
less  forenoon  was  like  the  blinding  brightness  of  a 
forge-fire.  To  right  and  left  the  great  treeless  plain 
rose  to  bare  buttes,  backed  by  still  barer  mountains. 
Let  the  train  speed  as  it  would,  there  was  always 
the  same  wearying  prospect,  devoid  of  interest, 
empty  of  human  landmarks.  Only  the  blazing 
sun  swung  from  side  to  side  with  the  slow  veerings 

52 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

of  the  track :  what  answered  for  a  horizon  seemed 
never  to  change,  never  to  move. 

At  long  intervals  a  siding,  sometimes  with  its 
waiting  train,  but  oftener  empty  and  deserted,  slid 
into  view  and  out  again.  Still  less  frequently  a 
telegraph  station,  with  its  red,  iron-roofed  office,  its 
water-tank  cars  and  pumping  machinery,  and  its 
high-fenced  corral  and  loading  chute,  moved  up 
out  of  the  distorting  heat  haze  ahead,  and  was  lost 
in  the  dusty  mirages  to  the  rear.  But  apart  from 
the  crews  of  the  waiting  trains,  and  now  and  then 
the  desert-sobered  face  of  some  telegraph  operator 
staring  from  his  window  at  the  passing  special, 
there  were  no  signs  of  life :  no  cattle  upon  the  dis 
tant  hills,  no  loungers  on  the  station  platforms. 

Lidgerwood  had  crossed  this  arid,  lifeless  plain 
twice  within  the  week  on  his  preliminary  tour  of 
inspection,  but  both  times  he  had  been  in  the  Pull 
man,  with  fellow-passengers  to  fill  the  nearer  field 
of  vision  and  to  temper  the  awful  loneliness  of  the 
waste.  Now,  however,  the  desert  with  its  heat, 
its  stillness,  its  vacancy,  its  pitiless  barrenness, 
claimed  him  as  its  own.  He  wondered  that  he 
had  been  impatient  with  the  men  it  bred.  The 
wonder  now  was  that  human  virtue  of  any  temper 
could  long  withstand  the  blasting  touch  of  so  great 
and  awful  a  desolation. 

53 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

It  was  past  noon  when  the  bowl-like  basin,  in 
which  the  train  seemed  to  circle  helplessly  with 
out  gaining  upon  the  terrifying  horizons,  began 
to  lose  its  harshest  features.  Little  by  little, 
the  tumbled  hills  drew  nearer,  and  the  red-sand 
dust  of  the  road-bed  gave  place  to  broken  lava. 
Patches  of  gray,  sun-dried  mountain  grass  ap 
peared  on  the  passing  hill  slopes,  and  in  the 
arroyos  trickling  threads  of  water  glistened,  or, 
if  the  water  were  hidden,  there  were  at  least 
paths  of  damp  sand  to  hint  at  the  blessed  moisture 
underneath. 

Lidgerwood  began  to  breathe  again;  and  when 
the  shrill  whistle  of  the  locomotive  signalled  the  ap 
proach  to  the  division  head-quarters,  he  was  thank 
ful  that  the  builders  of  Angels  had  pitched  their 
tents  and  driven  their  stakes  in  the  desert's  edge, 
rather  than  in  its  heart. 

Truly,  Angels  was  not  much  to  be  thankful  for, 
as  the  exile  from  the  East  regretfully  admitted 
when  he  looked  out  upon  it  from  the  windows  of 
his  office  in  the  second  story  of  the  Crow's  Nest. 
A  many-tracked  railroad  yard,  flanked  on  one  side 
by  the  repair  shops,  roundhouse,  and  coal-chutes; 
and  on  the  other  by  a  straggling  town  of  bare  and 
commonplace  exteriors,  unpainted,  unfenced,  tree 
less,  and  wind-swept:  Angels  stood  baldly  for 

54 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

what  it  was — a  mere  stopping-place  in  transit  for 
the  Red  Butte  Western. 

The  new  superintendent  turned  his  back  upon 
the  depressing  outlook  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
latch  of  the  door  opening  into  the  adjoining  room. 
There  was  a  thing  to  be  said  about  the  reckless 
bunching  of  trains  out  of  reach  of  the  wires,  and  it 
might  as  well  be  said  now  as  later,  he  determined. 
But  at  the  moment  of  door-opening  he  was 
made  to  realize  that  a  tall,  box-like  contrivance  in 
one  corner  of  the  office  was  a  desk,  and  that  it  was 
inhabited. 

The  man  who  rose  up  to  greet  him  was  bearded, 
heavy-shouldered,  and  hollow-eyed,  and  he  was 
past  middle  age.  Green  cardboard  cones  protect 
ing  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  a  shade  of  the  same  ma 
terial  visoring  the  sunken  eyes,  were  the  only 
clerkly  suggestions  about  him.  Since  he  merely 
stood  up  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  thick 
black  hair,  with  no  more  than  an  abstracted 
"Good-afternoon"  for  speech,  Lidgerwood  was 
left  to  guess  at  his  identity. 

"You  are  Mr.  Hallock?"  Lidgerwood  made 
the  guess  without  offering  to  shake  hands,  the 
high,  box-like  desk  forbidding  the  attempt. 

'Yes."  The  answer  was  neither  antagonistic 
nor  placatory;  it  was  merely  colorless. 

55 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"My  name  is  Lidgerwood.  You  have  heard  of 
my  appointment?" 

Again  the  colorless  "Yes." 

Lidgerwood  saw  no  good  end  to  be  subserved 
by  postponing  the  inevitable. 

"Mr.  Ford  spoke  to  me  about  you  last  night. 
He  told  me  that  you  had  been  Mr.  Cumberley's 
chief  clerk,  and  that  since  Cumberley's  resigna 
tion  you  have  been  acting  superintendent  of  the 
Red  Butte  Western.  Do  you  want  to  stay  on  as 
my  lieutenant?" 

For  the  long  minute  that  Hallock  took  before 
replying,  the  loose-lipped  mouth  under  the  shaggy 
mustache  seemed  to  have  lost  the  power  of  speech. 
But  when  the  words  finally  came,  they  were  shorn 
of  all  euphemism. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  tell  you  to  go  straight  to 
hell,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  put  on  my  coat  and  walk 
out,"  said  this  most  singular  of  all  railway  sub 
ordinates.  "By  all  the  rules  of  the  game,  this 
job  belongs  to  me.  What  I've  gone  through  to 
earn  it,  you  nor  any  other  man  will  ever  know.  If 
I  stay,  I'll  wish  I  hadn't;  and  so  will  you.  You'd 
better  give  me  a  time-check  and  let  me  go. " 

Lidgerwood  walked  to  the  window  and  once 
more  stared  out  upon  the  dreary  prospect,  bounded 
by  the  bluffs  of  the  second  mesa.  A  horseman  was 

56 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Cows 

ambling  down  the  single  street  of  the  town,  weaving 
in  his  saddle,  and  giving  vent  to  a  series  of  Indian 
war-whoops.  Lidgerwood  saw  the  drunken  cow 
boy  only  with  the  outward  eye.  And  when  he 
turned  back  to  the  man  in  the  rifle-pit  desk,  he 
could  not  have  told  why  the  words  of  regret  and 
dismissal  which  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  say, 
refused  to  come.  But  they  did  refuse,  and  what 
he  said  was  not  at  all  what  he  had  intended  to  say. 

"If  I  can't  quite  match  your  frankness,  Mr. 
Hallock,  it  is  because  my  early  education  was 
neglected.  But  I'll  say  this:  I  appreciate  your 
disappointment;  I  know  what  it  means  to  a  man 
situated  as  you  are.  Notwithstanding,  I  want 
you  to  stay  with  me.  I'll  say  more;  I  shall  take 
it  as  a  personal  favor  if  you  will  stay." 

" You'll  be  sorry  for  it  if  I  do,"  was  the  un 
gracious  rejoinder. 

"Not  because  you  will  do  anything  to  make  me 
sorry,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  new  superintendent,  in 
his  evenest  tone.  And  then,  as  if  the  matter  were 
definitely  settled:  "I'd  like  to  have  a  word  with 
the  trainmaster,  Mr.  McCloskey.  May  I  trouble 
you  to  tell  me  which  is  his  office  ?" 

Hallock  waved  a  hand  toward  the  door  which 
Lidgerwood  had  been  about  to  open  a  few  min 
utes  earlier. 

57 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"You'll  find  him  in  there,"  he  said  briefly, 
adding,  with  his  altogether  remarkable  disregard 
for  the  official  proprieties:  "If  he  gives  you  the 
same  chance  that  I  did,  don't  take  him  up.  He  is 
the  one  man  in  this  outfit  worth  more  than  the 
powder  it  would  take  to  blow  him  to  the  devil. " 


IV 

AT  THE    RIO    GLORIA 

THE  matter  to  be  taken  up  with  McCloskey, 
master  of  trains  and  chief  of  the  telegraph 
department,  was  not  altogether  disciplinary.  In 
the  summarizing  conference  at  Copah,  Vice-Pres 
ident  Ford  had  spoken  favorably  of  the  train 
master,  recommending  him  to  mercy  in  the  event 
of  a  general  beheading  in  the  Angels  head-quarters. 
"A  lame  duck,  like  most  of  the  desert  exiles,  and 
the  homeliest  man  west  of  the  Missouri  River," 
was  Ford's  characterization.  "He  is  as  stubborn 
as  a  mule,  but  he  is  honest  and  outspoken.  If  you 
can  win  him  over  to  your  side,  you  will  have  at 
least  one  lieutenant  whom  you  can  trust — and  who 
will,  I  think,  be  duly  grateful  for  small  favors. 
Mac  couldn't  get  a  job  east  of  the  Crosswater  Hills, 
I'm  afraid." 

Lidgerwood  had  not  inquired  the  reason  for  the 
eastern  disability.  He  had  lived  in  the  West 
long  enough  to  know  that  it  is  an  ill  thing  to  pry 
too  curiously  into  any  man's  past.  So  there 

59 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

should  be  present  efficiency,  no  man  in  the  ser 
vice  should  be  called  upon  to  recite  in  ancient 
history,  much  less  one  for  whom  Ford  had  spoken 
a  good  word. 

Like  all  the  other  offices  in  the  Crow's  Nest, 
that  of  the  trainmaster  was  bare  and  uninviting. 
Lidgerwood,  passing  beyond  the  door  of  commu 
nication,  found  himself  in  a  dingy  room,  with  cob 
webs  festooning  the  ceiling  and  a  pair  of  unwashed 
windows  looking  out  upon  the  open  square  called, 
in  the  past  and  gone  day  of  the  Angelic  promoters, 
the  "railroad  plaza/'  Two  chairs,  a  cheap  desk, 
and  a  pine  table  backed  by  the  "string-board" 
working  model  of  the  current  time-table,  did  duty 
as  the  furnishings,  serving  rather  to  emphasize 
than  to  relieve  the  dreariness  of  the  place. 

McCloskey  was  at  his  desk  at  the  moment  of 
door-opening,  and  Lidgerwood  instantly  paid 
tribute  to  Vice- President  Ford's  powers  of  char 
acterization.  The  trainmaster  was  undeniably 
homely — and  more;  his  hard-featured  face  was  a 
study  in  grotesques.  There  was  fearless  honesty 
in  the  shrewd  gray  eyes,  and  a  good  promise  of 
capability  in  the  strong  Scotch  jaw  and  long  upper 
lip,  but  the  grotesque  note  was  the  one  which  per 
sisted,  and  the  trainmaster  seemed  wilfully  to 
accentuate  it.  His  coat,  in  a  region  where  shirt- 

60 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

sleeves  predominated,  was  a  close-buttoned  gam 
bler's  frock,  and  his  hat,  in  the  country  of  the 
sombrero  and  the  soft  Stetson,  was  a  derby. 

Lidgerwood  was  striving  to  estimate  the  man 
beneath  these  outward  eccentricities  when  Mc- 
Closkey  rose  and  thrust  out  a  hand,  great-jointed 
and  knobbed  like  a  laborer's. 

" You're  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  I  take  it?"  said  he, 
tilting  the  derby  to  the  back  of  his  head.  "Come 
to  tell  me  to  pack  my  kit  and  get  out  ?" 

"Not  yet,  Mr.  McCloskey,"  laughed  Lidger 
wood,  getting  his  first  real  measure  of  the  man  in 
the  hearty  hand-grip.  "On  the  contrary,  I've 
come  to  thank  you  for  not  dropping  things  and 
running  away  before  the  new  management  could 
get  on  the  ground." 

The  trainmaster's  rejoinder  was  outspokenly 
blunt.  "I've  nowhere  to  run  to,  Mr.  Lidgerwood, 
and  that's  no  joke.  Some  of  the  backcappers 
will  be  telling  you  presently  that  I  was  a  train 
despatcher  over  in  God's  country,  and  that  I  put 
two  trains  together.  It's  your  right  to  know  that 


it's  true.': 


"Thank  you,  Mr.  McCloskey,"  said  Lidger 
wood  simply;  "that  sounds  good  to  me.  And 
take  this  for  yourself:  the  man  who  has  done  that 
once  won't  do  it  again.  That  is  one  thing,  and 

61 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

another  is  this :  we  start  with  a  clean  slate  on  the 
Red  Butte  Western.  No  man  in  the  service  who 
will  turn  in  and  help  us  make  a  real  railroad  out 
of  the  R.  B.  W.  need  worry  about  his  past  record : 
it  won't  be  dug  up  against  him." 

"That's  fair — more  than  fair,"  said  the  train 
master,  mouthing  the  words  as  if  the  mere  effort 
of  speech  were  painful,  "  and  I  wish  I  could  prom 
ise  you  that  the  rank  and  file  will  meet  you  half 
way.  But  I  can't.  You'll  find  a  plucked  pigeon, 
Mr.  Lidgerwood — with  plenty  of  hawks  left  to 
pick  the  bones.  The  road  has  been  running 
itself  for  the  past  two  years  and  more. " 

"I  understand,"  said  Lidgerwood;  and  then  he 
spoke  of  the  careless  despatching. 

"That  will  be  Callahan,  the  day  man,"  Mc- 
Closkey  broke  in  wrathfully.  "But  that's  the 
way  of  it.  When  we  get  through  the  twenty-four 
hours  without  killing  somebody  or  smashing  some 
thing,  I  thank  God,  and  put  a  red  mark  on  that  cal 
endar  over  my  desk." 

"Well,  we  won't  go  back  of  the  returns,"  de 
clared  Lidgerwood,  meaning  to  be  as  just  as  he 
could  to  his  predecessors  in  office.  "  But  from 
now  on— 

The  door  leading  into  the  room  beyond  the 
trainmaster's  office  opened  squeakily  on  dry 

62 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

hinges,  and  a  chattering  of  telegraph  instruments 
heralded  the  incoming  of  a  disreputable-looking 
office-man,  with  a  green  patch  over  one  eye  and  a 
blackened  cob-pipe  between  his  teeth.  Seeing 
Lidgerwood,  he  ducked  and  turned  to  McCloskey. 
Bradley,  reporting  in,  had  given  his  own  para- 
phrase  of  the  new  superintendent's  strictures  on 
Red  Butte  Western  despatching  and  the  criticism 
had  lost  nothing  in  the  recasting. 

"Seventy-one's  in  the  ditch  at  Gloria  Siding," 
he  said,  speaking  pointedly  to  the  trainmaster. 
"Goodloe  reports  it  from  Little  Butte;  says  both 
enginemen  are  in  the  mix-up,  but  he  doesn't 
know  whether  they  are  killed  or  not." 

" There  you  are!"  snarled  McCloskey,  wheel 
ing  upon  Lidgerwood.  "They  couldn't  let  you 
get  your  chair  warmed  the  first  day!" 

With  the  long  run  from  Copah  to  Angels  to  his 
credit,  and  with  all  the  head-quarters  loose  ends 
still  to  be  gathered  up,  Lidgerwood  might  blame 
lessly  have  turned  over  the  trouble  call  to  his  train 
master.  But  a  wreck  was  as  good  a  starting- 
point  as  any,  and  he  took  command  at  once. 

"Go  and  clear  for  the  wrecking-train,  and 
have  some  one  in  your  office  notify  the  shops  and 
the  yard,"  he  said  briskly,  compelling  the  attention 
of  the  one-eyed  despatcher;  and  when  Callahan 

63 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

was  gone:  "Now,  Mac,  get  out  your  map  and 
post  me.  I'm  a  little  lame  on  geography  yet. 
Where  is  Gloria  Siding?" 

McCloskey  found  a  blue-print  map  of  the  line 
and  traced  the  course  of  the  western  division  among 
the  foot-hills  to  the  base  of  the  Great  Timanyonis, 
and  through  the  Timanyoni  Canyon  to  a  park- 
like  valley,  shut  in  by  the  great  range  on  the  east 
and  north,  and  by  the  Little  Timanyonis  and  the 
Hophras  on  the  west  and  south.  At  a  point  mid 
way  of  the  valley  his  stubby  forefinger  rested. 

"That's  Gloria,"  he  said,  "and  here's  Little 
Butte,  twelve  miles  beyond." 

"Good  ground?"   queried  Lidgerwood. 

"As  pretty  a  stretch  as  there  is  anywhere  west 
of  the  desert;  reminds  you  of  a  Missouri  bottom, 
with  the  river  on  one  side  and  the  hills  a  mile  away 
on  the  other.  I  don't  know  what  excuse  those 
hoboes  could  find  for  piling  a  train  in  the  ditch 
there." 

"We'll  hear  the  excuse  later,"  said  Lidgerwood. 
"Now,  tell  me  what  sort  of  a  wrecking-plant  we 
have?" 

"The  best  in  the  bunch,"  asserted  the  train 
master.  "Gridley's  is  the  one  department  that 
has  been  kept  up  to  date  and  in  good  fighting 
trim.  We  have  one  wrecking-crane  that  will 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

pick  up  any  of  the  big  freight-pullers,  and  a 
lighter  one  that  isn't  half  bad." 

"Who  is  your  wrecking-boss  ?" 

"Gridley — when  he  feels  like  going  out.  He 
can  clear  a  main  line  quicker  than  any  man  we've 
ever  had." 

"He  will  go  with  us  to-day  ?" 

"I  suppose  so.     He  is  in  town  and  he's — sober." 

The  new  superintendent  caught  at  the  hesitant 
word. 

"Drinks,  does  he?" 

"Not  much  while  he  is  on  the  job.  But  he  dis 
appears  periodically  and  comes  back  looking  some 
thing  the  worse  for  wear.  They  tell  tough  stories 
about  him  over  in  Copah." 

Lidgerwood  dropped  the  master-mechanic  as 
he  had  dropped  the  offending  trainmen  who  had 
put  Train  71  in  the  ditch  at  Gloria  where,  ac 
cording  to  McCloskey,  there  should  be  no  ditch. 

"I'll  go  and  run  through  my  desk  mail  and  fill 
Hallock  up  while  you  are  making  ready,"  he  said. 
"Call  me  when  the  train  is  made  up." 

Passing  through  the  corridor  on  the  way  to  his 
private  office  back  of  Hallock's  room,  Lidgerwood 
saw  that  the  wreck  call  had  already  reached  the 
shops.  A  big,  bearded  man  with  a  soft  hat  pulled 
over  his  eyes  was  directing  the  make-up  of  a  train 

65 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

on  the  repair  track,  and  the  yard  engine  was  pull 
ing  an  enormous  crane  down  from  its  spur  beyond 
the  coal-chutes.  Around  the  man  in  the  soft  hat 
the  wrecking-crew  was  gathering:  shopmen  for  the 
greater  part,  as  a  crew  of  a  master-mechanic's 
choosing  would  be. 

As  the  event  proved,  there  was  little  time  for  the 
doing  of  the  preliminary  work  which  Lidgerwood 
had  meant  to  do.  In  the  midst  of  the  letter-sort 
ing,  McCloskey  put  his  head  in  at  the  door  of  the 
private  office. 

"We're  ready  when  you  are,  Mr.  Lidgerwood," 
he  interrupted;  and  with  a  few  hurried  directions 
to  Hallock,  Lidgerwood  joined  the  trainmaster 
on  the  Crow's  Nest  platform.  The  train  was 
backing  up  to  get  its  clear-track  orders,  and  on 
the  tool-car  platform  stood  the  big  man  whom 
Lidgerwood  had  already  identified  presumptively 
as  Gridley. 

McCloskey  would  have  introduced  the  new 
superintendent  when  the  train  paused  for  the  signal 
from  the  despatched  window,  but  Gridley  did  not 
wait  for  the  formalities. 

"Come  aboard,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,"  he  called, 
genially.  "It's  too  bad  we  have  to  give  you  a 
sweat-box  welcome.  If  there  are  any  of  Seventy- 
one's  crew  left  alive,  you  ought  to  give  them  thirty 

66 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

days  for  calling  you  out  before  you  could  shake 
hands  with  yourself. " 

Being  by  nature  deliberate  in  forming  friend 
ships,  and  proportionally  tenacious  of  them  when 
they  were  formed,  Lidgerwood's  impulse  was  to 
hold  all  men  at  arm's  length  until  he  was  reason 
ably  assured  of  sincerity  and  a  common  ground. 
But  the  genial  master-mechanic  refused  to  be  put 
on  probation.  Lidgerwood  made  the  effort  while 
the  rescue  train  was  whipping  around  the  hill 
shoulders  and  plunging  deeper  into  the  afternoon 
shadows  of  the  great  mountain  range.  The  tool- 
car  was  comfortably  filled  with  men  and  working 
tackle,  and  for  seats  there  were  only  the  blocking 
timbers,  the  tool-boxes,  and  the  coils  of  rope  and 
chain  cables.  Sharing  a  tool-box  with  Gridley 
and  smoking  a  cigar  out  of  Gridley's  pocket-case,, 
Lidgerwood  found  it  difficult  to  be  less  than 
friendly. 

It  was  to  little  purpose  that  he  recalled  Ford's 
qualified  recommendation  of  the  man  who  had 
New  York  backing  and  who,  in  Ford's  phrase, 
was  a  "brute  after  his  own  peculiar  fashion." 
Brute  or  human,  the  big  master-mechanic  had  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman,  and  his  easy  good 
nature  broke  down  all  the  barriers  of  reserve  that 
his  somewhat  reticent  companion  could  interpose- 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"You  smoke  good  cigars,  Mr.  Gridley,"  said 
Lidgerwood,  trying,  as  he  had  tried  before,  to 
wrench  the  talk  aside  from  the  personal  channel 
into  which  it  seemed  naturally  to  drift. 

"Good  tobacco  is  one  of  the  few  luxuries  the 
desert  leaves  a  man  capable  of  enjoying.  You 
haven't  come  to  that  yet,  but  you  will.  It  is  a 
savage  life,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  and  if  a  man  hasn't 
a  good  bit  of  the  blood  of  his  stone-age  ancestors 
in  him,  the  desert  will  either  kill  him  or  make  a 
beast  of  him.  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any 
medium." 

The  talk  was  back  again  in  the  personal  chan 
nel,  and  this  time  Lidgerwood  met  the  issue 
fairly. 

"You  have  been  saying  that,  in  one  form  or 
another,  ever  since  we  left  Angels:  are  you  trying 
to  scare  me  off,  Mr.  Gridley,  or  are  you  only  giving 
me  a  friendly  warning  ?"  he  asked. 

The  master-mechanic  laughed  easily. 

"I  hope  I  wouldn't  be  impudent  enough  to  do 
either,  on  such  short  acquaintance,"  he  protested. 
"  But  now  that  you  have  opened  the  door,  per 
haps  a  little  man-to-man  frankness  won't  be  amiss. 
You  have  tackled  a  pretty  hard  proposition,  Mr. 
Lidgerwood." 

"Technically,  you  mean?" 
68 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

"No,  I  didn't  mean  that,  because,  if  your  friends 
tell  the  truth  about  you,  you  can  come  as  near 
to  making  bricks  without  straw  as  the  next  man. 
But  the  Red  Butte  Western  reorganization  asks 
for  something  more  than  a  good  railroad  officer." 

"I'm  listening,"  said  Lidgerwood. 

Gridley  laughed  again. 

"What  will  you  do  when  a  conductor  or  an 
engineer  whom  you  have  called  on  the  carpet 
curses  you  out  and  invites  you  to  go  to  hell  ?" 

"I  shall  fire  him,"  was  the  prompt  rejoinder. 

"Naturally  and  properly,  but  afterward  ?  Four 
out  of  five  men  in  this  human  scrap-heap  you've 
inherited  will  lay  for  you  with  a  gun  to  play  even 
for  the  discharge.  What  then  ?" 

It  was  just  here  that  Lidgerwood,  staring 
absently  at  the  passing  panorama  of  shifting  hill 
shoulders  framing  itself  in  the  open  side-door  of 
the  tool-car,  missed  a  point.  If  he  had  been  less 
absorbed  in  the  personal  problem  he  could  scarce 
ly  have  failed  to  mark  the  searching  scrutiny  in 
the  shrewd  eyes  shaded  by  Gridley's  soft  hat. 

"  I  don't  know, "  he  said,  half  hesitantly.  "  Civ 
ilization  means  something — or  it  should  mean 
something— even  in  the  Red  Desert,  Mr.  Gridley. 
I  suppose  there  is  some  semblance  of  legal  pro 
tection  in  Angels,  as  elsewhere,  isn't  there?" 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

The  master-mechanic's  smile  was  tolerant. 

"  Surely.  We  have  a  town  marshal,  and  a  justice 
of  the  peace;  one  is  a  blacksmith  and  the  other 
the  keeper  of  the  general  store." 

The  good-natured  irony  in  Gridley's  reply  was 
not  thrown  away  upon  his  listener,  but  Lidgerwood 
held  tenaciously  to  his  own  contention. 

"The  inadequacy  of  the  law,  or  of  its  machin 
ery,  hardly  excuses  a  lapse  into  barbarism,"  he 
protested.  "The  discharged  employee,  in  the  case 
you  are  supposing,  might  hold  himself  justified 
in  shooting  at  me;  but  if  I  should  shoot  back  and 
happen  to  kill  him,  it  would  be  murder.  We've 
got  to  stand  for  something,  Mr.  Gridley,  you  and 
I  who  know  the  difference  between  civilization 
and  savagery." 

Gridley's  strong  teeth  came  together  with  a 
little  snap. 

"Certainly,"  he  agreed,  without  a  shade  of  hesi 
tation;  adding,  "  I've  never  carried  a  gun  and  have 
never  had  to."  Then  he  changed  the  subject 
abruptly,  and  when  the  train  had  swung  around 
the  last  of  the  hills  and  was  threading  its  tortuous 
way  through  the  great  canyon,  he  proposed  a 
change  of  base  to  the  rear  platform  from  which 
Chandler's  marvel  of  engineering  skill  could  be 
better  seen  and  appreciated. 

70 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

The  wreck  at  Gloria  Siding  proved  to  be  a  very 
mild  one,  as  railway  wrecks  go.  A  broken  flange 
under  a  box-car  had  derailed  the  engine  and  a 
dozen  cars,  and  there  were  no  casualties — the 
report  about  the  involvement  of  the  two  engine- 
men  being  due  to  the  imagination  of  the  excited 
flagman  who  had  propelled  himself  on  a  hand 
car  back  to  Little  Butte  to  send  in  the  call 
for  help. 

Since  Gridley  was  on  the  ground,  Lidgerwood 
and  McCloskey  stood  aside  and  let  the  master- 
mechanic  organize  the  attack.  Though  the  prob 
lem  of  track-clearing,  on  level  ground  and  with 
a  convenient  siding  at  hand  for  the  sorting  and 
shifting,  was  a  simple  one,  there  was  still  a  chance 
for  an  exhibition  of  time-saving  and  speed,  and 
Gridley  gave  it.  There  was  never  a  false  move 
made  or  a  tentative  one,  and  when  the  huge  lifting- 
crane  went  into  action,  Lidgerwood  grew  warmly 
enthusiastic. 

"Gridley  certainly  knows  his  business/'  he 
said  to  McCloskey.  "The  Red  Butte  Western 
doesn't  need  any  better  wrecking-boss  than  it 
has  right  now." 

"He  can  do  the  job,  when  he  feels  like  it,"  ad 
mitted  the  trainmaster  sourly. 

"  But  he  doesn't  often  feel  like  it  ?     You  can't 

71 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

blame    him    for    that.     Picking    up    wrecks    isn't 
fairly  a  part  of  a  master-mechanic's  duty. " 

"That  is  what  he  says,  and  he  doesn't  trouble 
himself  to  go  when  it  isn't  convenient.  I  have 
a  notion  he  wouldn't  be  here  to-day  if  you 


weren't.'' 


It  was  plainly  evident  that  McCloskey  meant 
more  than  he  said,  but  once  again  Lidgerwood 
refused  to  go  behind  the  returns.  He  felt  that  he 
had  been  prejudiced  against  Gridley  at  the  outset, 
unduly  so,  he  was  beginning  to  think,  and  even- 
handed  fairness  to  all  must  be  the  watchword  in 
the  campaign  of  reorganization. 

"Since  we  seem  to  be  more  ornamental  than 
useful  on  this  job,  you  might  give  me  another  les 
son  in  Red  Butte  geography,  Mac,"  he  said,  pur 
posely  changing  the  subject.  "Where  are  the 
gulch  mines  ?" 

The  trainmaster  explained  painstakingly,  squat 
ting  to  trace  a  rude  map  in  the  sand  at  the  track- 
side.  Hereaway,  twelve  miles  to  the  westward, 
lay  Little  Butte,  where  the  line  swept  a  great  curve 
to  the  north  and  so  continued  on  to  Red  Butte. 
Along  the  northward  stretch,  and  in  the  foot-hills 
of  the  Little  Timanyonis,  were  the  placers,  most 
of  them  productive,  but  none  of  them  rich  enough  to 
stimulate  a  rush. 

72 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

Here,  where  the  river  made  a  quick  turn,  was 
the  butte  from  which  the  station  of  Little  Butte 
took  its  name — the  superintendent  might  see  its 
wooded  summit  rising  above  the  lower  hills  in 
tervening.  It  was  a  long,  narrow  ridge,  more  like 
a  hogback  than  a  true  mountain,  and  it  held  a 
silver  mine,  Flemister's,  which  was  a  moderately 
heavy  shipper.  The  vein  had  been  followed  com 
pletely  through  the  ridge,  and  the  spur  track  in  the 
eastern  gulch,  which  had  originally  served  it,  had 
been  abandoned  and  a  new  spur  built  up  along 
the  western  foot  of  the  butte,  with  a  main  line  con 
nection  at  Little  Butte.  Up  here,  ten  miles  above 
Little  Butte,  was  a  bauxite  mine,  with  a  spur;  and 
here  .  .  . 

McCloskey  went  on,  industriously  drawing  lines 
in  the  sand,  and  Lidgerwood  sat  on  a  cross-tie  end 
and  conned  his  lesson.  Below  the  siding  the  big 
crane  was  heaving  the  derailed  cars  into  line  with 
methodical  precision,  but  now  it  was  Gridley's 
shop  foreman  who  was  giving  the  orders.  The 
master-mechanic  had  gone  aside  to  hold  converse 
with  a  man  who  had  driven  up  in  a  buckboard, 
coming  from  the  direction  in  which  Little  Butte  lay. 

"Goodloe  told  me  the  wreck-wagons  were  here, 
and  I  thought  you  would  probably  be  along,"  the 
buckboard  driver  was  saying.  "How  are  things 

73 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

shaping  up  ?  I  haven't  cared  to  risk  the  wires 
since  Bigsby  leaked  on  us." 

Gridley  put  a  foot  on  the  hub  of  the  buck- 
board  wheel  and  began  to  whittle  a  match  with  a 
penknife  that  was  as  keen  as  a  razor. 

"The  new  chum  is  in  the  saddle;  look  over 
your  shoulder  to  the  left  and  you'll  see  him  sitting 
on  a  cross-tie  beside  McCloskey, "  he  said. 

"I've  seen  him  before.  He  was  over  the  road 
last  week,  and  I  happened  to  be  in  Goodloe's 
office  at  Little  Butte  when  he  got  off  to  look 
around,"  was  the  curt  rejoinder.  "But  that 
doesn't  help  any.  What  do  you  know?" 

"He  is  a  gentleman,"  said  Gridley  slowly. 

"Oh,  the  devil!  what  do  I  care  about— 

"And  a  scholar,"  the  master-mechanic  went  on 
imperturbably. 

The  buckboard  driver's  black  eyes  snapped. 
"Can  you  add  the  rest  of  it — 'and  he  isn't  very 
bright'?" 

"No,"  was  the  sober  reply. 

"Well,  what  are  we  up  against?" 

Gridley  snapped  the  penknife  shut  and  began 
to  chew  the  sharpened  end  of  the  match. 

"Your  pop-valve  is  set  too  light;  you  blow  off 
too  easily,  Flemister, "  he  commented.  "So  far 
we — or  rather  you — are  up  against  nothing  worse 

74 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

than  the  old  proposition.  Lidgerwood  is  going  to 
try  to  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear,  begin 
ning  with  the  pay-roll  contingent.  If  I  have  sized 
him  up  right,  he'll  be  kept  busy;  too  busy  to  re 
member  your  name — or  mine." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  in  just  so  many  words. " 

"Nothing  more  than  I  have  said.  Mr.  Lidger 
wood  is  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar." 

"Ha!"  said  the  man  in  the  buckboard  seat. 
"I  believe  I'm  catching  on,  after  so  long  a  time. 
You  mean  he  hasn't  the  sand." 

Gridley  neither  denied  nor  affirmed.  He  had 
taken  out  his  penknife  again  and  was  resharpening 
the  match. 

"Hallock  is  the  man  to  look  to,"  he  said.  "If 
we  could  get  him  interested  ..." 

"That's  up  to  you,  damn  it;  I've  told  you  a 
hundred  times  that  I  can't  touch  him!" 

"I  know;  he  doesn't  seem  to  love  you  very 
much.  The  last  time  I  talked  to  him  he  mentioned 
something  about  shooting  you  off-hand,  but  I 
guess  he  didn't  mean  it.  You've  got  to  interest 
him  in  some  way,  Flemister. " 

"Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  how,"  was  the  sar 
castic  retort. 

"  I  think  perhaps  I  can,  now.  Do  you  remember 
anything  about  the  sky-rocketing  finish  of  the 

75 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Mesa  Building  and  Loan  Association,  or  is  that 
too  much  of  a  back  number  for  a  busy  man  like 
you?" 

"I  remember  it,"  said  Flemister. 

"Hallock  was  the  treasurer,"  put  in  Gridley 
smoothly. 

"Yes,  but " 

"Wait  a  minute.  A  treasurer  is  supposed  to 
treasure  something,  isn't  he  ?  There  are  pos 
sibly  twenty-five  or  thirty  men  still  left  in  the  Red 
Butte  Western  service  who  have  never  wholly  quit 
trying  to  find  out  why  Hallock,  the  treasurer, 
failed  so  signally  to  treasure  anything." 

'"Yah!  that's  an  old  sore." 

"I  know,  but  old  sores  may  become  suddenly 
troublesome — or  useful — as  the  case  may  be. 
For  some  reason  best  known  to  himself,  Hallock 
has  decided  to  stay  and  continue  playing  second 
fiddle." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

The  genial  smile  was  wrinkling  at  the  corners 
of  Gridley's  eyes. 

:t  There  isn't  very  much  going  on  under  the 
sheet-iron  roof  of  the  Crow's  Nest  that  I  don't 
know,  Flemister,  and  usually  pretty  soon  after  it 
happens.  Hallock  will  stay  on  as  chief  clerk, 
and,  naturally,  he  is  anxious  to  stand  well  with 

76 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

his  new    boss.     Are  you   beginning  to   see   day 
light?" 

"Not  yet." 

"Well,  we'll  open  the  shutters  a  little  wider. 
One  of  the  first  things  Lidgerwood  will  have  to 
wrestle  with  will  be  this  Loan  Association  business. 
The  kickers  will  put  it  up  to  him,  as  they  have  put 
it  up  to  every  new  man  who  has  come  out  here. 
Ferguson  refused  to  dig  into  anybody's  old  grave 
yard,  and  so  did  Cumberley.  But  Lidgerwood 
won't  refuse.  He  is  going  to  be  the  just  judge,  if 
not  the  very  terrible." 

"Still,  I  don't  see,"  persisted  Flemister. 

"  Don't  you  ?  Hallock  will  be  obliged  to  justify 
himself  to  Lidgerwood,  and  he  can't.  In  fact, there 
is  only  one  man  living  to-day  who  could  fully  jus 
tify  him." 

"And  that  man  is— 

— Pennington  Flemister,  ex-president  of  the 
defunct  Building  and  Loan.  You  know  where 
the  money  went,  Flemister." 

"Maybe  I  do.     What  of  that?" 

"  I  can  only  offer  a  suggestion,  of  course.  You 
are  a  pretty  smooth  liar,  Pennington;  it  wouldn't 
be  much  trouble  for  you  to  fix  up  a  story  that  would 
satisfy  Lidgerwood.  You  might  even  show  up 
a  few  documents,  if  it  came  to  the  worst." 

77 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Well?" 

"  That's  all.  If  you  get  a  good,  firm  grip  on 
that  club,  you'll  have  Hallock,  coming  and  going. 
It's  a  dead  open  and  shut.  If  he  falls  in  line, 
you'll  agree  to  pacify  Lidgerwood;  otherwise  the 
law  will  have  to  take  its  course." 

The  man  in  the  buckboard  was  silent  for  a  long 
minute  before  he  said:  "It  won't  work,  Gridley. 
Hallock's  grudge  against  me  is  too  bitter.  You 
know  part  of  it,  and  part  of  it  you  don't  know. 
He'd  hang  himself  in  a  minute  if  he  could  get  my 
neck  in  the  same  noose." 

The  master-mechanic  threw  the  whittled  match 
away,  as  if  the  argument  were  closed. 

"That  is  where  you  are  lame,  Flemister:  you 
don't  know  your  man.  Put  it  up  to  Hallock 
barehanded:  if  he  comes  in,  all  right;  if  not, 
you'll  put  him  where  he'll  wear  stripes.  That 
will  fetch  him." 

The  men  of  the  derrick  gang  were  righting  the 
last  of  the  derailed  box-cars,  and  the  crew  of  the 
wrecking-train  was  shifting  the  cripples  into  line 
for  the  return  run  to  Angels. 

"We'll  be  going  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  the 
master-mechanic,  taking  his  foot  from  the  wheel- 
hub.  "Do  you  want  to  meet  Lidgerwood?" 

"Not  here — or  with  you,"  said  the  owner  of 

78 


At  the  Rio  Gloria 

the  Wire-Silver;  and  he  had  turned  his  team  and 
was  driving  away  when  Gridley's  shop  foreman 
came  up  to  say  that  the  wrecking-train  was  ready 
to  leave. 

Lidgerwood  found  a  seat  for  himself  in  the 
tool-car  on  the  way  back  to  Angels,  and  put  in 
the  time  smoking  a  short  pipe  and  reviewing  the 
events  of  his  first  day  in  the  new  field. 

The  outlook  was  not  wholly  discouraging,  and 
but  for  the  talk  with  Gridley  he  might  have  smoked 
and  dozed  quite  peacefully  on  his  coiled  hawser, 
in  the  corner  of  the  car.  But,  try  as  he  would, 
the  importunate  demon  of  distrust,  distrust  of 
himself,  awakened  by  the  master-mechanic's  warn 
ing,  refused  to  be  quieted;  and  when,  after  the 
three  hours  of  the  slow  return  journey  were  out 
worn,  McCloskey  came  to  tell  him  that  the  train 
was  pulling  into  the  Angels  yard,  the  explosion 
of  a  track  torpedo  under  the  wheels  made  him 
start  like  a  nervous  woman. 


79 


THE    OUTLAWS 


FOR  the  first  few  weeks  after  the  change  in 
ownership  and  the  arrival  of  the  new  su 
perintendent,  the  Red  Butte  Western  and  its 
nerve-centre,  Angels,  seemed  disposed  to  take 
Mr.  Howard  Lidgerwood  as  a  rather  ill-timed 
joke,  perpetrated  upon  a  primitive  West  and  its 
people  by  some  one  of  the  Pacific  Southwestern 
magnates  who  owned  a  broad  sense  of  humor. 

During  this  period  the  sardonic  laugh  was  heard 
in  the  land,  and  the  chuckling  appreciation  of  the 
joke  by  the  Red  Butte  rank  and  file,  and  by  the 
Angelic  soldiers  of  fortune  who,  though  not  upon 
the  company's  pay-rolls,  still  throve  indirectly 
upon  the  company's  bounty,  lacked  nothing  of 
completeness.  The  Red  Desert  grinned  like  the 
famed  Cheshire  cat  when  an  incoming  train  from 
the  East  brought  sundry  boxes  and  trunks,  said  to 
contain  the  new  boss's  wardrobe.  Its  guffaws 
were  long  and  uproarious  when  it  began  to  be 
noised  about  that  the  company  carpenters  and 

so 


The  Outlaws 

fitters  were  installing  a  bath  and  other  civilizing 
and  softening  appliances  in  the  alcove  opening 
out  of  the  superintendent's  sleeping-room  in  the 
head-quarters  building. 

Lidgerwood  slept  in  the  Crow's  Nest,  not  so 
much  from  choice  as  for  the  reason  that  there 
seemed  to  be  no  alternative  save  a  room  in  the 
town  tavern,  appropriately  named  "The  Hotel 
Celestial."  Between  his  sleeping-apartment  and 
his  private  office  there  was  only  a  thin  board  par 
tition;  but  even  this  gave  him  more  privacy 
than  the  Celestial  could  offer,  where  many  of  the 
partitions  were  of  building-paper,  muslin  covered. 

It  is  a  railroad  proverb  that  the  properly  inocu 
lated  railroad  man  eats  and  sleeps  with  his  busi 
ness;  Lidgerwood  exemplified  the  saying  by  hav 
ing  a  wire  cut  into  the  despatcher's  office,  with  the 
terminals  on  a  little  table  at  his  bed's  head,  and 
with  a  tiny  telegraph  relay  instrument  mounted 
on  the  stand.  Through  the  relay,  tapping  softly 
in  the  darkness,  came  the  news  of  the  line,  and 
often,  after  the  strenuous  day  was  ended,  Lidger 
wood  would  lie  awake  listening. 

Sometimes  the  wire  gossiped,  and  echoes  of 
Homeric  laughter  trickled  through  the  relay  in 
the  small  hours;  as  when  Ruby  Creek  asked  the 
night  despatcher  if  it  were  true  that  the  new  boss 

81 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

slept  in  what  translated  itself  in  the  laborious 
Morse  of  the  Ruby  Creek  operator  as  "pijjim- 
mies";  or  when  Navajo,  tapping  the  same  source 
of  information,  wished  to  be  informed  if  the 
"Chink" — doubtless  referring  to  Tadasu  Mat- 
suwari — ran  a  laundry  on  the  side  and  thus  kept 
His  Royal  Highness  in  collars  and  cuffs. 

At  the  tar-paper-covered,  iron-roofed  Celestial, 
where  he  took  his  meals,  Lidgerwood  had  a  table 
to  himself,  which  he  shared  at  times  with  Mc- 
Closkey,  and  at  other  times  with  breezy  Jack 
Benson,  the  young  engineer  whom  Vice-President 
Ford  had  sent,  upon  Lidgerwood 's  request  and 
recommendation,  to  put  new  life  into  the  track 
force,  and  to  make  the  preliminary  surveys  for  a 
possible  western  extension  of  the  road. 

When  the  superintendent  had  guests,  the  long 
table  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  dining-room  re 
strained  itself.  When  he  ate  alone,  Maggie  Dono 
van,  the  fiery-eyed,  heavy-handed  table-girl  who 
ringed  his  plate  with  the  semicircle  of  ironstone 
portion  dishes,  stood  between  him  and  the  men 
who  were  still  regarding  him  as  a  joke.  And 
since  Maggie's  displeasure  manifested  itself  in  cold 
coffee  and  tough  cuts  of  the  beef,  the  long  table 
made  its  most  excruciating  jests  elaborately  im 
personal 

82 


The  Outlaws 

On  the  line,  and  in  the  roundhouse  and  repair- 
shops,  the  joke  was  far  too  good  to  be  muzzled. 
The  nickname,  "  Collars-and-Cuffs, "  became  clas 
sical;  and  once,  when  Brannagan  and  the  117 
were  ordered  out  on  the  service-car,  the  Irishman 
wore  the  highest  celluloid  collar  he  could  find  in 
Angels,  rounding  out  the  clownery  with  a  pair 
of  huge  wickerware  cuffs,  which  had  once  seen  ser 
vice  as  the  coverings  of  a  pair  of  Maraschino 
bottles. 

No  official  notice  having  been  taken  of  Bran- 
nagan's  fooling,  Buck  Tryon,  ordered  out  on  the 
same  duty,  went  the  little  Irishman  one  better, 
decorating  his  engine  headlight  and  handrails 
with  festoonings  of  colored  calico,  the  decoration 
figuring  as  a  caricature  of  Lidgerwood's  college 
colors,  and  calico  being  the  nearest  approach  to 
bunting  obtainable  at  Jake  Schleisinger's  em 
porium,  two  doors  north  of  Red-Light  Sammy's 
house  of  call. 

All  of  which  was  harmless  enough,  one  would 
say,  however  subversive  of  dignified  discipline  it 
might  be.  Lidgerwood  knew.  The  jests  were  too 
broad  to  be  missed.  But  he  ignored  them  good- 
naturedly,  rather  thankful  for  the  playful  inter 
lude  which  gave  him  a  breathing-space  and  time  to 
study  the  field  before  the  real  battle  should  begin. 

83 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

That  a  battle  would  have  to  be  fought  was  evi 
dent  enough.  As  yet,  the  demoralization  had 
been  scarcely  checked,  and  sooner  or  later  the  nec 
essary  radical  reforms  would  have  to  begin. 
Gridley,  whose  attitude  toward  the  new  super 
intendent  continued  to  be  that  of  a  disinterested 
adviser,  assured  Lidgerwood  that  he  was  losing 
ground  by  not  opening  the  campaign  of  severity 
at  once. 

:<  You'll  have  to  take  a  club  to  these  hoboes 
before  you  can  ever  hope  to  make  railroad  men 
out  of  them/'  was  Gridley's  oft-repeated  asser 
tion;  and  the  fact  that  the  master-mechanic  was 
continually  urging  the  warfare  made  Lidgerwood 
delay  it. 

Just  why  Gridley's  counsel  should  have  pro 
duced  such  a  contrary  effect,  Lidgerwood  could 
not  have  explained.  The  advice  was  sound,  and 
the  man  who  gave  it  was  friendly  and  apparently 
ingenuous.  But  prejudices,  like  prepossessions, 
are  sometimes  as  strong  as  they  are  inexplicable, 
and  while  Lidgerwood  freely  accused  himself  of 
injustice  toward  the  master-mechanic,  a  certain 
feeling  of  distrust  and  repulsion,  dating  back  to 
his  first  impressions  of  the  man,  died  hard. 

Oddly  enough,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  a 
prepossession,  quite  as  unreasoning,  for  Hallock. 


The  Outlaws 

There  was  absolutely  nothing  in  the  chief  clerk 
to  inspire  liking,  or  even  common  business  con 
fidence;  on  the  contrary,  while  Hallock  attended 
to  his  duties  and  carried  out  his  superior's  in 
structions  with  the  exactness  of  an  automaton, 
his  attitude  was  distinctly  antagonistic.  As  the 
chief  subaltern  on  Lidgerwood's  small  staff  he  was 
efficient  and  well-nigh  invaluable.  But  as  a  man, 
Lidgerwood  felt  that  he  might  easily  be  regarded 
as  an  enemy  whose  designs  could  never  be  fa 
thomed  or  prefigured. 

In  spite  of  Hallock's  singular  manner,  which 
was  an  abrupt  challenge  to  all  comers,  Lidger 
wood  acknowledged  a  growing  liking  for  the  chief 
clerk.  Under  the  crabbed  and  gloomy  crust  of 
the  man  the  superintendent  fancied  he  could  dis 
cover  a  certain  savage  loyalty.  But  under  the 
loyalty  there  was  a  deeper  depth — of  misery, 
or  tragedy,  or  both;  and  to  this  abysmal  part  of 
him  there  was  no  key  that  Lidgerwood  could 
find. 

McCloskey,  who  had  served  under  Hallock  for 
a  number  of  months  before  the  change  in  manage 
ment,  confessed  that  he  knew  the  gloomy  chief 
clerk  only  as  a  man  in  authority,  and  exceedingly 
hard  to  please.  Questioned  more  particularly 
by  Lidgerwood,  McCloskey  added  that  Hallock 

85 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

was  married;  that  after  the  first  few  months  in 
Angels  his  wife,  a  strikingly  beautiful  young 
woman,  had  disappeared,  and  that  since  her  de 
parture  Hallock  had  lived  alone  in  two  rooms 
over  the  freight  station,  rooms  which  no  one,  save 
himself,  ever  entered. 

These,  and  similar  bits  of  local  history,  were 
mere  gatherings  by  the  way  for  the  superintend 
ent,  picked  up  while  the  Red  Desert  was  having  its 
laugh  at  the  new  bath-room,  the  pajamas,  and  the 
clean  linen.  They  weighed  lightly,  because  the 
principal  problem  was,  as  yet,  untouched.  For 
while  the  laugh  endured,  Lidgerwood  had  not 
found  it  possible  to  breach  many  of  the  strong 
holds  of  lawlessness. 

Orders,  regarded  by  disciplined  railroad  men  as 
having  the  immutability  of  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians,  were  still  interpreted  as  loosely  as 
if  they  were  but  the  casual  suggestions  of  a  by 
stander.  Rules  were  formulated  and  given  black- 
letter  emphasis  in  their  postings  on  the  bulletin 
boards,  only  to  be  coolly  ignored  when  they 
chanced  to  conflict  with  some  train  crew's  desire 
to  make  up  time  or  to  kill  it.  Directed  to  account 
for  fuel  and  oil  consumed,  the  enginemen  good- 
naturedly  forged  reports  and  the  storekeepers 
blandly  O.K.'d  them.  Instructed  to  keep  an  ac- 

86 


The  Outlaws 

curate  record  of  all  material  used,  the  trackmen 
jocosely  scattered  more  spikes  than  they  drove, 
made  fire-wood  of  the  stock  cross-ties,  and  were 
not  above  underpinning  the  section-houses  with 
new  dimension  timbers. 

In  countless  other  ways  the  waste  was  prodigious 
and  often  mysteriously  unexplainable.  The  com 
pany  supplies  had  a  curious  fashion  of  disappear 
ing  in  transit.  Two  car-loads  of  building  lumber 
sent  to  repair  the  station  at  Red  Butte  vanished 
somewhere  between  the  Angels  shipping-yards 
and  their  billing  destination.  Lime,  cement,  and 
paint  were  exceedingly  volatile.  House  hardware, 
purchased  in  quantities  for  company  repairs,  fig 
ured  in  the  monthly  requisition  sheet  as  regularly 
as  coal  and  oil;  and  the  lost-tool  account  roughly 
balanced  the  pay-roll  of  the  company  carpenters 
and  bridge-builders. 

In  such  a  chaotic  state  of  affairs,  track  and  train 
troubles  were  the  rule  rather  than  the  exception, 
and  it  was  a  Red  Butte  Western  boast  that  the 
fire  was  never  drawn  under  the  wrecking-train 
engine.  For  the  first  few  weeks  Lidgerwood  let 
McCloskey  answer  the  "hurry  calls"  to  the  vari 
ous  scenes  of  disaster,  but  when  three  sections  of 
an  eastbound  cattle  special,  ignoring  the  ten- 
minute-interval  rule,  were  piled  up  in  the  Pinon 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Hills,  he  went  out  and  took  personal  command 
of  the  track-clearers. 

This  happened  when  the  joke  was  at  flood-tide, 
and  the  men  of  the  wrecking-crew  took  a  ten- 
gallon  keg  of  whiskey  along  wherewith  to  cele 
brate  the  first  appearance  of  the  new  superintend 
ent  in  character  as  a  practical  wrecking-boss.  The 
outcome  was  rather  astonishing.  For  one  thing, 
Lidgerwood's  first  executive  act  was  to  knock 
in  the  head  of  the  ten-gallon  celebration  with 
a  striking-hammer,  before  it  was  even  spig- 
goted;  and  for  another  he  quickly  proved  that  he 
was  Gridley's  equal,  if  not  his  master,  in  the  gentle 
art  of  track-clearing;  lastly,  and  this  was  the 
most  astonishing  thing  of  all,  he  demonstrated  that 
clean  linen  and  correct  garmentings  do  not  nec 
essarily  make  for  softness  and  effeminacy  in  the 
wearer.  Through  the  long  day  and  the  still  longer 
night  of  toil  and  stress  the  new  boss  was  able  to 
endure  hardship  with  the  best  man  on  the  ground. 

This  was  excellent,  as  far  as  it  went.  But  later, 
with  the  offending  cattle-train  crews  before  him 
for  trial  and  punishment,  Lidgerwood  lost  all  he 
had  gained  by  being  too  easy. 

"We've  got  him  chasin'  his  feet,"  said  Tryon, 
one  of  the  rule-breaking  engineers,  making  his  re 
port  to  the  roundhouse  contingent  at  the  close  of 

88 


The  Outlaws 

the  " sweat-box "  interview.  "It's  just  as  I've 
been  tellin'  you  mugs  all  along,  he  hain't  got  sand 
enough  to  fire  anybody." 

Likewise  Jack  Benson,  though  from  a  friendlier 
point  of  view.  The  "sweat-box"  was  Lidger- 
wood's  private  office  in  the  Crow's  Nest,  and  Ben 
son  happened  to  be  present  when  the  reckless 
trainmen  were  told  to  go  and  sin  no  more. 

"I'm  not  running  your  job,  Lidgerwood,  and 
you  may  fire  the  inkstand  at  me  if  the  spirit  moves 
you  to,  but  I've  got  to  butt  in.  You  can't  handle 
the  Red  Desert  with  kid  gloves  on.  Those  fel 
lows  needed  an  artistic  cussing-out  and  a  thirty- 
day  hang-up  at  the  very  lightest.  You  can't  hold 
'em  down  with  Sunday-school  talk." 

Lidgerwood  was  frowning  at  his  blotting-pad 
and  pencilling  idle  little  squares  on  it — a  habit 
which  was  insensibly  growing  upon  him. 

"Where  would  I  get  the  two  extra  train-crews 
to  fill  in  the  thirty-day  lay-off,  Jack  ?  Had  you 
thought  of  that  ?" 

"I  had  only  the  one  think,  and  I  gave  you  that 
one,"  rejoined  Benson  carelessly.  "I  suppose  it 
is  different  in  your  department.  When  I  go  up 
against  a  thing  like  that  on  the  sections,  I  fire  the 
whole  bunch  and  import  a  few  more  Italians. 
Which  reminds  me,  as  old  Dunkenfeld  used  to  say 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

when  there  wasn't  either  a  link  or  a  coupling-pin 
anywhere  within  the  four  horizons:  what  do  you 
know  about  Fred  Dawson,  Gridley's  shop  drafts 
man?" 

"Next  to  nothing,  personally,"  replied  Lidg- 
erwood,  taking  Benson's  abrupt  change  of  topic 
as  a  matter  of  course.  "He  seems  a  fine  fellow; 
much  too  fine  a  fellow  to  be  wasting  himself  out 
here  in  the  desert.  Why  ?" 

"Oh,  I  just  wanted  to  know.  Ever  met  his 
mother  and  sister?" 

"No." 

"Well,  you  ought  to.  The  mother  is  one  of  the 
only  two  angels  in  Angels,  and  the  sister  is  the 
other.  Dawson,  himself,  is  a  ghastly  mono 


maniac." 


Lidgerwood's  brows  lifted,  though  his  query  was 
unspoken. 

"Haven't  you  heard  his  story?"  asked  Ben 
son;  "but  of  course  you  haven't.  He  is  a  lame 
duck,  you  know — like  every  other  man  this  side  of 
Crosswater  Summit,  present  company  excepted." 

"A  lame  duck  ?"  repeated  Lidgerwood. 

"Yes,  a  man  with  a  past.  Don't  tell  me  you 
haven't  caught  onto  the  hall-mark  of  the  Red 
Desert.  It's  notorious.  The  blacklegs  and  tin 
horns  and  sure-shots  go  without  saying,  of  course, 

90 


The  Outlaws 

but  they  haven't  a  monopoly  on  the  broken  records. 
Over  in  the  ranch  country  beyond  the  Timanyonis 
they  lump  us  all  together  and  call  us  the  outlaws." 

"Not  without  reason,"  said  Lidgerwood. 

"Not  any/'  asserted  Benson  with  cheerful 
pessimism.  "The  entire  Red  Butte  Western 
outfit  is  tarred  with  the  same  stick.  You  haven't 
a  dozen  operators,  all  told,  who  haven't  been  dis 
charged  for  incompetence,  or  worse,  somewhere 
else;  or  a  dozen  conductors  or  engineers  who 
weren't  good  and  comfortably  blacklisted  before 
they  climbed  Crosswater.  Take  McCloskey:  you 
swear  by  him,  don't  you  ?  He  was  a  chief  de- 
spatcher  back  East,  and  he  put  two  passenger- 
trains  together  in  a  head-on  collision  the  day  he 
resigned  and  came  West  to  grow  up  with  the  Red 
Desert." 

"I  know,"  said  Lidgerwood,  "and  I  did  not 
have  to  learn  it  at  second-hand.  Mac  was  man 
enough  to  tell  me  himself,  before  I  had  known 
him  five  minutes."  Then  he  suggested  mildly, 
"  But  you  were  speaking  of  Dawson,  weren't  you  ? " 

"Yes,  and  that's  what  makes  me  say  what  I'm 
saying;  he  is  one  of  them,  though  he  needn't  be  if 
he  weren't  such  a  hopelessly  sensitive  ass.  He's 
a  B.  S.  in  M.  E.,  or  he  would  have  been  if  he  had 
stayed  out  his  senior  year  in  Carnegie,  but  also  he 

91 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

happened  to  be  a  foot-ball  fiend,  and  in  the  last  in 
tercollegiate  game  of  his  last  season  he  had  the  hor 
rible  luck  to  kill  a  man — and  the  man  was  the 
brother  of  the  girl  Dawson  was  going  to  marry. " 

"Heavens  and  earth!"  exclaimed  Lidgerwood. 
"Is  he  that  Dawson?" 

"The  same,"  said  the  young  engineer  laconic 
ally.  "It  was  the  sheerest  accident,  and  every 
body  knew  it  was,  and  nobody  blamed  Dawson. 
I  happen  to  know,  because  I  was  a  junior  in  Car 
negie  at  the  time.  But  Fred  took  it  hard;  let  it 
spoil  his  life.  He  threw  up  everything,  left  college 
between  two  days,  and  came  to  bury  himself  out 
here.  For  two  years  he  never  let  his  mother  and 
sister  know  where  he  was;  made  remittances  to 
them  through  a  bank  in  Omaha,  so  they  shouldn't 
be  able  to  trace  him.  Care  to  hear  any  more  ?" 

"Yes,  go  on,"  said  the  superintendent. 

"/  found  him,"  chuckled  Benson,  "and  I  took 
the  liberty  of  piping  his  little  game  off  to  the  har 
rowed  women.  Next  thing  he  knew  they  dropped 
in  on  him;  and  he  is  just  crazy  enough  to  stay  here, 
and  to  keep  them  here.  That  wouldn't  be  so  bad 
if  it  wasn't  for  Gridley,  Fred's  boss  and  your 
peach  of  a  master-mechanic. " 

"Why  'peach'?  Gridley  is  a  pretty  decent 
sort  of  a  man-driver,  isn't  he  ?"  said  Lidgerwood, 

92 


The  Outlaws 

doing  premeditated  and  intentional  violence  to 
what  he  had  come  to  call  his  unjust  prejudice 
against  the  handsome  master-mechanic. 

"You  won't  believe  it,"  said  Benson  hotly,  "but 
he  has  actually  got  the  nerve  to  make  love  to  Daw- 
son's  sister!  and  he  a  widow-man,  old  enough  to 
be  her  father!" 

Lidgerwood  smiled.  It  is  the  privilege  of  youth 
to  be  intolerant  of  age  in  its  rival.  Gridley  was, 
possibly,  forty-two  or  three,  but  Benson  was  still 
on  the  sunny  slope  of  twenty-five.  "You  are 
prejudiced,  Jack,"  he  criticized.  "Gridley  is  still 
young  enough  to  marry  again,  if  he  wants  to— 
and  to  live  long  enough  to  spoil  his  grand 
children." 

"But  he  doesn't  begin  to  be  good  enough  for 
Faith  Dawson,"  countered  the  young  engineer, 
stubbornly. 

"Isn't  he?  or  is  that  another  bit  of  your  per 
sonal  grudge  ?  What  do  you  know  against  him  ? " 

Pressed  thus  sharply  against  the  unyielding 
fact,  Benson  was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  knew 
nothing  at  all  against  the  master-mechanic,  noth 
ing  that  could  be  pinned  down  to  day  and  date. 
If  Gridley  had  the  weaknesses  common  to  Red- 
Desert  mankind,  he  did  not  parade  them  in  Angels. 
As  the  head  of  his  department  he  was  well  known 

93 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

to  be  a  hard  hitter;  and  now  and  then,  when  the 
blows  fell  rather  mercilessly,  the  railroad  colony 
called  him  a  tyrant,  and  hinted  that  he,  too,  had  a 
past  that  would  not  bear  inspection.  But  even 
Benson  admitted  that  this  was  mere  gossip. 

Lidgerwood  laughed  at  the  engineer's  failure 
to  make  his  case,  and  asked  quizzically,  "Where 
do  I  come  in  on  all  this,  Jack  ?  You  have  an 
axe  to  grind,  I  take  it." 

"I  have.  Mrs.  Dawson  wants  me  to  take  my 
meals  at  the  house.  I'm  inclined  to  believe  that 
she  is  a  bit  shy  of  Gridley,  and  maybe  she  thinks 
I  could  do  the  buffer  act.  But  as  a  get-between 
I'd  be  chiefly  conspicuous  by  my  absence. " 

"Sorry  I  can't  give  you  an  office  job/'  said  the 
superintendent  in  mock  sympathy. 

"So  am  I,  but  you  can  do  the  next  best  thing. 
Get  Fred  to  take  you  home  with  him  some  of  these 
fine  evenings,  and  you'll  never  go  back  to  .Maggie 
Donovan  and  the  Celestial's  individual  hash- 
holders;  not  if  you  can  persuade  Mrs.  Dawson  to 
feed  you.  The  alternative  is  to  fire  Gridley  out 
of  his  job." 

"This  time  you  are  trying  to  make  the  tail  wag 
the  dog,"  said  Lidgerwood.  "Gridley  has  twice 
my  backing  in  the  P.  S-W.  board  of  directors. 
Besides,  he  is  a  good  fellow;  and  if  I  go  up  on  the 

94 


The  Outlaws 

mesa  and  try  to  stand  him  off  for  you,  it  will  be 
only  because  I  hope  you  are  a  better  fellow. " 

"Prop  it  up  on  any  leg  you  like,  only  go,"  said 
Benson  simply.  "I'll  take  it  as  a  personal  favor, 
and  do  as  much  for  you,  some  time.  I  suppose 
I  don't  have  to  warn  you  not  to  fall  in  love  with 
Faith  Dawson  yourself — or,  on  second  thought, 
perhaps  I  had  better." 

This  time  Lidgerwood's  laugh  was  mirthless. 

"No,  you  don't  have  to,  Jack.  Like  Gridley, 
I  am  older  than  I  look,  and  I  have  had  my  little 
turn  at  that  wheel;  or  rather,  perhaps  I  should  say 
that  the  wheel  has  had  its  little  turn  at  me.  You 
can  safely  deputize  me,  I  guess." 

"All  right,  and  many  thanks.  Here's  202 
coming  in,  and  I'm  going  over  to  Navajo  on  it. 
Don't  wait  too  long  before  you  make  up  to  Daw- 
son.  You'll  find  him  well  worth  while,  after  you've 
broken  through  his  shell. " 

The  merry  jest  on  the  Red  Butte  Western  ran 
its  course  for  another  week  after  the  three-train 
wreck  in  the  Pinons — for  a  week  and  a  day.  Then 
Lidgerwood  began  the  drawing  of  the  net.  A 
new  time-card  was  strung  with  McCloskey's  co 
operation,  and  when  it  went  into  effect  a  notice  on 
all  bulletin  boards  announced  the  adoption  of  the 
standard  "Book  of  Rules,"  and  promised  pen- 

95 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

alties  in  a  rising  scale  for  unauthorized  departure 
therefrom. 

Promptly  the  horse-laugh  died  away  and  the 
trouble  storm  was  evoked.  Grievance  committees 
haunted  the  Crow's  Nest,  and  the  insurrectionary 
faction,  starting  with  the  trainmen  and  spreading 
to  the  track  force,  threatened  to  involve  the  tele 
graph  operators — threatened  to  become  a  protest 
unanimous  and  in  the  mass.  Worse  than  this, 
the  service,  haphazard  enough  before,  now  be 
came  a  maddening  chaos.  Orders  were  misun 
derstood,  whether  wilfully  or  not  no  court  of  in 
quiry  could  determine;  wrecks  were  of  almost 
daily  occurrence,  and  the  shop  track  was  speedily 
filled  to  the  switches  with  crippled  engines  and  cars. 

In  such  a  storm  of  disaster  and  disorder  the  cap 
tain  in  command  soon  finds  and  learns  to  dis 
tinguish  his  loyal  supporters,  if  any  such  there  be. 
In  the  pandemonium  of  untoward  events,  Mc- 
Closkey  was  Lidgerwood's  right  hand,  toiling, 
smiting,  striving,  and  otherwise  approving  him 
self  a  good  soldier.  But  close  behind  him  came 
Gridley;  always  suave  and  good-natured,  making 
no  complaints,  not  even  when  the  repair  work 
made  necessary  by  the  innumerable  wrecks  grew 
mountain-high,  and  always  counselling  firmness 
and  more  discipline. 

96 


The  Outlaws 

"This  is  just  what  we  have  been  needing  for 
years,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,"  he  took  frequent  oc 
casion  to  say.  "Of  course,  we  have  now  to  pay 
the  penalty  for  the  sins  of  our  predecessors;  but 
if  you  will  persevere,  we'll  pull  through  and  be  a 
railroad  in  fact  when  the  clouds  roll  by.  Don't 
give  in  an  inch.  Show  these  muckers  that  you 
mean  business,  and  mean  it  all  the  time,  and  you'll 
win  out  all  right." 

Thus  the  master-mechanic;  and  McCloskey, 
with  more  at  stake  and  a  less  insulated  point  of 
view,  took  it  out  in  good,  hard  blows,  backing 
his  superior  like  a  man.  Indeed,  in  the  small 
head-quarters  staff,  Hallock  was  the  only  non- 
combatant.  From  the  beginning  of  hostilities  he 
seemed  to  have  made  a  pact  with  himself  not  to 
let  it  be  known  by  any  act  or  word  of  his  that  he 
was  aware  of  the  suddenly  precipitated  conflict. 
The  routine  duties  of  a  chief  clerk's  desk  are 
never  light;  Hallock's  became  so  exacting  that  he 
rarely  left  his  office,  or  the  pen-like  contrivance 
in  which  he  entrenched  himself  and  did  his  work. 

When  the  fight  began,  Lidgerwood  observed 
Hallock  closely,  trying  to  discover  if  there  were 
any  secret  signs  of  the  satisfaction  which  the 
revolt  of  the  rank  and  file  might  be  supposed  to 
awaken  in  an  unsuccessful  candidate  for  the 

97 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

official  headship  of  the  Red  Butte  Western. 
There  were  none.  Hallock's  gaunt  face,  with  the 
loose  lips  and  the  straggling,  unkempt  beard,  was 
a  blank;  and  the  worst  wreck  of  the  three  which 
promptly  followed  the  introduction  of  the  new 
rules,  was  noted  in  his  reports  with  the  calm  in 
difference  with  which  he  might  have  jotted  down 
the  breakage  of  a  section  foreman's  spike-maul. 

McCloskey,  being  of  Scottish  blood  and  desert- 
seasoned,  was  a  cool  in-fighter  who  could  take 
punishment  without  wincing  overmuch.  But  at 
the  end  of  the  first  fortnight  of  the  new  time-card, 
he  cornered  his  chief  in  the  private  office  and  freed 
his  mind. 

"It's  no  use,  Mr.  Lidgerwood;  we  can't  make 
these  reforms  stick  with  the  outfit  we've  got,"  he 
asserted,  in  sharp  discouragement.  "The  next 
thing  on  the  docket  will  be  a  strike,  and  you  know 
what  that  will  mean,  in  a  country  where  the 
whiskey  is  bad  and  nine  men  out  of  every  ten  go 
fixed  for  trouble. " 

"I  know;  nevertheless  the  reforms  have  got  to 
stick,"  returned  Lidgerwood  definitively.  "We 
are  going  to  run  this  railroad  as  it  should  be  run, 
or  hang  it  up  in  the  air.  Did  you  discharge  that 
operator  at  Crow  Canyon  ?  the  fellow  who  let  Train 
76  get  by  him  without  orders  night  before  last?" 


The  Outlaws 

"Dick  Rufford  ?  oh,  yes,  I  fired  him;  and  he 
came  in  on  202  to-day,  lugging  a  piece  of  artillery 
and  shooting  off  his  mouth  about  what  he  was 
going  to  do  to  me — and  to  you.  I  suppose  you 
know  that  his  brother  Bart,  'the  Killer/  they  call 
him,  is  the  'lookout'  at  Red-Light  Sammy's 
faro  game,  and  the  meanest  devil  this  side  of  the 
Timanyonis  ? " 

"I  didn't  know  it,  but  that  cuts  no  figure." 
Lidgerwood  forced  himself  to  say  it,  though  his 
lips  were  curiously  dry.  "We  are  going  to  have 
discipline  on  this  railroad  while  we  stay  here, 
Mac;  there  are  no  two  ways  about  that." 

McCloskey  tilted  his  hat  to  the  bridge  of  his 
nose,  his  characteristic  gesture  of  displeasure. 

"I  promised  myself  that  I  wouldn't  join  the 
gun-toters  when  I  came  out  here,"  he  said,  half 
musingly,  "but  I've  weakened  on  that.  Yester 
day,  when  I  was  calling  Jeff  Cummings  down  for 
dropping  that  new  shifting-engine  out  of  an  open 
switch  in  broad  daylight,  he  pulled  on  me  out  of 
his  cab  window.  What  I  had  to  take  while  he 
had  me  'hands  up'  is  more  than  I'll  take  from  any 
living  man  again." 

As  in  other  moments  of  stress  and  perplexity, 
Lidgerwood  was  absently  marking  little  pencil 
squares  on  his  desk  blotter. 

99 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"I  wouldn't  get  down  to  the  desert  level,  if  I 
were  you,  Mac,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 

"I'm  down  there  right  now,  in  self-defence," 
was  the  sober  rejoinder.  "And  if  you'll  take  a 
hint  from  me  you'll  heel  yourself,  too,  Mr.  Lidger- 
wood.  I  know  this  country  better  than  you  do, 
and  the  men  in  it.  I  don't  say  they'll  come  after 
you  deliberately,  but  as  things  are  now  you  can't 
open  your  face  to  one  of  them  without  taking  the 
chance  of  a  quarrel,  and  a  quarrel  in  a  gun- 
country— 

"I  know,"  said  Lidgerwood  patiently,  and  the 
trainmaster  gave  it  up. 

It  was  an  hour  or  two  later  in  the  same  day  when 
McCloskey  came  into  the  private  office  again,  hat 
tilted  to  nose,  and  the  gargoyle  face  portraying 
fresh  soul  agonies. 

'They've  taken  to  pillaging  now!"  he  burst 
out.  'The  316,  that  new  saddle-tank  shifting- 
engine,  has  disappeared.  I  saw  Broderick  using 
the  '95,  and  when  I  asked  him  why,  he  said  he 
couldn't  find  the  '16." 

"Couldn't  find  it?"   echoed  Lidgerwood. 

'No;  nor  I  can't,  either.  It's  nowhere  in  the 
yards,  the  roundhouse,  or  back  shop,  and  none  of 
Gridley's  foremen  know  anything  about  it.  I've 
had  Callahan  wire  east  and  west,  and  if  they're 


100 


The  Outlaws 

all  telling  the  truth,  nobody  has  seen  it  or  heard 
of  it." 

"Where  was  it,  at  last  accounts  ?" 

"Standing  on  the  coal  track  under  chute  num 
ber  three,  where  the  night  crew  left  it  at  midnight, 
or  thereabouts." 

"But  certainly  somebody  must  know  where  it 
has  gone,"  said  Lidgerwood. 

"Yes;  and  by  grapples!  I  think  I  know  who 
the  somebody  is." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"If  I  should  tell  you,  you  wouldn't  believe  it, 
and  besides  I  haven't  got  the  proof.  But  I'm 
going  to  get  the  proof,"  shaking  a  menacing  fore 
finger,  "and  when  I  do— 

The  interruption  was  the  entrance  of  Hallock, 
coming  in  with  the  pay-rolls  for  the  superintend 
ent's  approval.  McCloskey  broke  off  short  and 
turned  to  the  door,  but  Lidgerwood  gave  him  a 
parting  command. 

"Come  in  again,  Mac,  in  about  half  an  hour. 
There  is  another  matter  that  I  want  to  take  up 
with  you,  and  to-day  is  as  good  a  time  as  any. " 

The  trainmaster  nodded  and  went  out,  mut 
tering  curses  to  the  tilted  hat  brim. 


101 


VI 


EVERYMAN'S  SHARE 


switching-engine  mystery  opens  up  a 
field  that  Fve  been  trying  to  get  into  for 
some  little  time,  Mac,"  the  superintendent  began> 
after  the  half-hour  had  elapsed  and  the  train 
master  had  returned  to  the  private  office.  "Sit 
down  and  we'll  thresh  it  out.  Here  are  some 
figures  showing  loss  and  expense  in  the  general 
maintenance  account.  Look  them  over  and  tell 
me  what  you  think. " 

"Wastage,  you  mean?"  queried  the  trainmas 
ter,  glancing  at  the  totals  in  the  auditor's  statement. 

"That  is  what  I  have  been  calling  it;  a  reck 
less  disregard  for  the  value  of  anything  and  every 
thing  that  can  be  included  in  a  requisition.  There 
is  a  good  deal  of  that,  I  know;  the  right-of-way 
is  littered  from  end  to  end  with  good  material 
thrown  aside.  But  I'm  afraid  that  isn't  the  worst 
of  it." 

The  trainmaster  was  nursing  a  knee  and  screw 
ing  his  face  into  the  reflective  scheme  of  distortion. 

102 


Everyman's  Share 

"Those  things  are  always  hard  to  prove.  Short 
of  a  military  guard,  for  instance,  you  couldn't 
prevent  Angels  from  raiding  the  company's  coal- 
yard  for  its  cook-stoves.  That's  one  leak,  and  the 
others  are  pretty  much  like  it.  If  a  company 
employee  wants  to  steal,  and  there  isn't  enough 
common  honesty  among  his  fellow-employees  to 
hold  him  down,  he  can  steal  fast  enough  and  get 
away  with  it. " 

"By  littles,  yes,  but  not  in  quantity,"  pursued 
Lidgerwood. 

"Mony  a  little  makes  a  mickle,'  as  my  old 
grandfather  used  to  say,"  McCloskey  went  on. 
"If  everybody  gets  his  fingers  into  the  sugar- 
bowl- 

Lidgerwood  swung  his  chair  to  face  McCloskey. 

"We'll  pass  up  the  petty  thieveries,  for  the 
present,  and  look  a  little  higher,"  he  said  gravely. 
"Have  you  found  any  trace  of  those  two  car-loads 
of  company  lumber  lost  in  transit  between  here 
and  Red  Butte  two  weeks  ago  ?" 

"No,  nor  of  the  cars  themselves.  They  were 
reported  as  two  Transcontinental  flats,  initials 
and  numbers  plainly  given  in  the  car-record. 
They  seem  to  have  disappeared  with  the  lumber." 

"Which  means?"    queried  the  superintendent. 

"That  the  numbers,  or  the  initials,  or  both,  were 
103 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

wrongly  reported.     It  means  that  it  was  a  put-up 
job  to  steal  the  lumber." 

"Exactly.  And  there  was  a  mixed  car-load  of 
lime  and  cement  lost  at  about  the  same  time, 
wasn't  there  ?" 

"Yes." 

Lidgerwood's  swing-chair  righted  itself  to  the 
perpendicular  with  a  snap. 

"Mac,  the  Red  Butte  mines  are  looking  up  a 
little,  and  there  is  a  good  bit  of  house-building 
going  on  in  the  camp  just  now:  tell  me,  what  man 
or  men  in  the  company's  service  would  be  likely 
to  be  taking  a  flyer  in  Red  Butte  real  estate  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  of  anybody.  Gridley  used  to  be 
interested  in  the  camp.  He  went  in  pretty  heavily 
on  the  boom,  and  lost  out — so  they  all  say.  So  did 
your  man  out  there  in  the  pig-pen  desk,"  with  a 
jerk  of  his  thumb  to  indicate  the  outer  office. 

"They  are  both  out  of  it,"  said  Lidgerwood 
shortly.  Then:  "How  about  Sullivan,  the  west- 
end  supervisor  of  track  ?  He  has  property  in  Red 
Butte,  I  am  told." 

"Sullivan  is  a  thief,  all  right,  but  he  does  it 
openly  and  brags  about  it;  carries  off  a  set  of 
bridge-timbers,  now  and  then,  for  house-sills,  and 
makes  a  joke  of  it  with  anybody  who  will  listen." 

Lidgerwood  dismissed  Sullivan  abruptly. 
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Everyman's  Share 

"It  is  an  organized  gang,  and  it  must  have  its 
members  pretty  well  scattered  through  the  de 
partments — and  have  a  good  many  members,  too," 
he  said  conclusively.  "That  brings  us  to  the  dis 
appearance  of  the  switching-engine  again.  No 
one  man  made  off  with  that,  single-handed,  Mac." 

"Hardly." 

"It  was  this  gang  we  are  presupposing — the 
gang  that  has  been  stealing  lumber  and  lime  and 
other  material  by  the  car-load." 

"Well?" 

"I  believe  we'll  get  to  the  bottom  of  all  the  loot 
ing  on  this  switching-engine  business.  They  have 
overdone  it  this  time.  You  can't  put  a  locomotive 
in  your  pocket  and  walk  off  with  it.  You  say 
you've  wired  Copah  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  was  at  the  Copah  key— Mr.  Leckhard  ?" 

"No.  I  didn't  want  to  advertise  our  troubles 
to  a  main-line  official.  I  got  the  day-despatcher, 
Crandall,  and  told  him  to  keep  his  mouth  shut 
until  he  heard  of  it  some  other  way. " 

"Good.     And  what  did  Crandall  say  ?" 

"He  said  that  the  '16  had  never  gone  out 
through  the  Copah  yards;  that  it  couldn't  get  any 
where  if  it  had  without  everybody  knowing 
about  it." 

105 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Lidgerwood's  abstracted  gaze  out  of  the  office 
window  became  a  frown  of  concentration. 

"But  the  object,  McCloskey — what  possible 
profit  could  there  be  in  the  theft  of  a  locomotive 
that  can  neither  be  carried  away  nor  converted 
into  salable  junk?" 

The  trainmaster  shook  his  head.  "I've  stewed 
over  that  till  Fm  threatened  with  softening  of  the 
brain,"  he  confessed. 

"Never  mind,  you  have  a  comparatively  easy 
job,"  Lidgerwood  went  on.  "That  engine  is 
somewhere  this  side  of  the  Crosswater  Hills.  It 
is  too  big  to  be  hidden  under  a  bushel  basket. 
Find  it,  and  you'll  be  hot  on  the  trail  of  the  car 
load  robbers." 

McCloskey  got  upon  his  feet  as  if  he  were  going 
at  once  to  begin  the  search,  but  Lidgerwood  de 
tained  him. 

"Hold  on;  Fm  not  quite  through  yet.  Sit 
down  again  and  have  a  smoke. " 

The  trainmaster  squinted  sourly  at  the  ex 
tended  cigar-case.  "I  guess  not,"  he  demurred. 
"I  cut  it  out,  along  with  the  toddies,  the  day  I  put 
on  my  coat  and  hat  and  walked  out  of  the  old 
F.  &  P.  M.  offices  without  my  time-check. " 

"If  it  had  to  be  both  or  neither,  you  were  wise; 
whiskey  and  railroading  don't  go  together  very 

1 06 


Everyman's  Share 

well.  But  about  this  other  matter.  Some  years 
ago  there  was  a  building  and  loan  association 
started  here  in  Angels,  the  ostensible  object  being 
to  help  the  railroad  men  to  own  their  homes.  Ever 
hear  of  it?" 

"Yes,  but  it  was  dead  and  buried  before  my 


time.53 


"Dead,  but  not  buried,"  corrected  Lidgerwood. 
"As  I  understand  it,  the  railroad  company  fa 
thered  it,  or  at  all  events,  some  of  the  officials  took 
stock  in  it.  When  it  died  there  was  a  consider 
able  deficit,  together  with  a  failure  on  the  part  of 
the  executive  committee  to  account  for  a  pretty 
liberal  cash  balance." 

"I've  heard  that  much,"  said  the  trainmaster. 

"Then  we'll  bring  it  down  to  date,"  Lidger 
wood  resumed.  "  It  appears  that  there  are  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  of  the  losers  still  in  the  employ  of  this 
company,  and  they  have  sent  a  committee  to  me  to 
ask  for  an  investigation,  basing  the  demand  on  the 
assertion  that  they  were  coerced  into  giving  up 
their  money  to  the  building  and  loan  people." 

"I've  heard  that,  too,"  McCloskey  admitted. 
"The  story  goes  that  the  house-building  scheme 
was  promoted  by  the  old  Red  Butte  Western 
bosses,  and  if  a  man  didn't  take  stock  he  got  him 
self  disliked.  If  he  did  take  it,  the  premiums  were 

107 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

held  out  on  the  pay-rolls.     It  smells  like  a  good, 
old-fashioned  graft,  with  the  lid  nailed  on. " 

u  There  wouldn't  seem  to  be  any  reasonable 
doubt  about  the  graft,"  said  the  superintendent. 
"But  my  duty  is  clear.  Of  course,  the  Pacific 
Southwestern  Company  isn't  responsible  for  the 
side-issue  schemes  of  the  old  Red  Butte  Western 
officials.  But  I  want  to  do  strict  justice.  These 
men  charge  the  officials  of  the  building  and  loan 
company  with  open  dishonesty.  There  was  a 
balance  of  several  thousand  dollars  in  the  treasury 
when  the  explosion  came,  and  it  disappeared." 

"Well?"  said  the  trainmaster. 

'The  losers  contend  that  somebody  ought  to 
make  good  to  them.  They  also  call  attention  to 
the  fact  that  the  building  and  loan  treasurer,  who 
was  never  able  satisfactorily  to  explain  the  dis 
appearance  of  the  cash  balance,  is  still  on  the  rail 
road  company's  pay-rolls." 

McCloskey  sat  up  and  tilted  the  derby  to  the 
back  of  his  head.  "Gridley?"  he  asked. 

"No;  for  some  reasons  I  wish  it  were  Gridley. 
He  is  able  to  fight  his  own  battles.  It  comes 
nearer  home,  Mac.  The  treasurer  was  Hallock. " 

McCloskey  rose  noiselessly,  tiptoed  to  the  door 
of  communication  with  the  outer  office,  and  opened 
it  with  a  quick  jerk.  There  was  no  one  there. 

1 08 


Everyman's  Share 

"I  thought  I  heard  something,"  he  said. 
"Didn't  you  think  you  did?" 

Lidgerwood  shook  his  head. 

"Hallock  has  gone  over  to  the  storekeeper's 
office  to  check  up  the  time-rolls.  He  won't  be 
back  to-day." 

McCloskey  closed  the  door  and  returned  to  his 
chair. 

"  If  I  say  what  I  think,  you'll  be  asking  me  for 
proofs,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  and  I  have  none.  Besides, 
I'm  a  prejudiced  witness.  I  don't  like  Hallock." 

Quite  unconsciously  Lidgerwood  picked  up  a 
pencil  and  began  adding  more  squares  to  the 
miniature  checker-board  on  his  desk  blotter.  It 
was  altogether  subversive  of  his  own  idea  of  fit 
ness  to  be  discussing  his  chief  clerk  with  his  train 
master,  but  McCloskey  had  proved  himself  an 
honest  partisan  and  a  fearless  one,  and  Lidger 
wood  was  at  a  pass  where  the  good  counsel  of  even 
a  subordinate  was  not  to  be  despised. 

"I  don't  want  to  do  Hallock  an  injustice,"  he 
went  on,  after  a  hesitant  pause,  "neither  do  I  wish 
to  dig  up  the  past,  for  him  or  for  anybody.  I  was 
hoping  that  you  might  know  some  of  the  inside  de 
tails,  and  so  make  it  easier  for  me  to  get  at  the 
truth.  I  can't  believe  that  Hallock  was  culpably 
responsible  for  the  disappearance  of  the  money." 

109 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

By  this  time  McCloskey  had  his  hat  tilted  to  the 
belligerent  angle. 

"I'm  not  a  fair  witness,"  he  reiterated.  "There's 
been  gossip,  and  I've  listened  to  it. " 

"About  this  building  and  loan  mess?" 

"No;  about  the  wife." 

'To  Haliock's  discredit,  you  mean?" 

" You'd  think  so:  there  was  a  scandal  of  some 
sort;  I  don't  know  what  it  was — never  wanted  to 
know.  But  there  are  men  here  in  Angels  who  hint 
that  Hallock  killed  the  woman  and  sunk  her  body 
in  the  Timanyoni." 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  Lidgerwood,  under  his 
breath.  "I  can't  believe  that,  Mac." 

"I  don't  know  as  I  do,  but  I  can  tell  you  a  thing 
that  I  do  know,  Mr.  Lidgerwood:  Hallock  is  a 
devil  out  of  hell  when  it  comes  to  paying  a  grudge. 
There  was  a  freight-conductor  named  Jackson 
that  he  had  a  shindy  with  in  Mr.  Ferguson's  time, 
and  it  came  to  blows.  Hallock  got  the  worst  of 
the  fist-fight,  but  Ferguson  made  a  joke  of  it  and 
wouldn't  fire  Jackson.  Hallock  bided  his  time 
like  an  Indian,  and  worked  it  around  so  that  Jack 
son  got  promoted  to  a  passenger  run.  After  that 
it  was  easy. " 

"How  so?" 

"It  was  the  devil's  own  game.  Jackson  was  a 
no 


Everyman's  Share 

handsome  young  fellow,  and  Hallock  set  a  woman 
on  him — a  woman  out  of  Cat  Biggs's  dance-hall. 
From  that  to  holding  out  fares  to  get  more  money 
to  squander  was  only  a  step  for  the  young  fool, 
and  he  took  it.  Having  baited  the  trap  and  set 
it,  Hallock  sprung  it.  One  fine  day  Jackson  was 
caught  red-handed  and  turned  over  to  the  com 
pany  lawyers.  There  had  been  a  good  bit  of  talk 
and  they  made  an  example  of  him.  He's  got  a 
couple  of  years  to  serve  yet,  I  believe. " 

Lidgerwood  was  listening  thoughtfully.  The 
story  which  had  ended  so  disastrously  for  the 
young  conductor  threw  a  rather  lurid  sidelight 
upon  Jackson's  accuser.  Fairness  was  the  su 
perintendent's  fetish,  and  the  revenge  which 
would  sleep  on  its  wrongs  and  go  about  delib 
erately  and  painstakingly  to  strike  a  deadly  blow 
in  the  dark  was  revolting  to  him.  Yet  he  was 
just  enough  to  distinguish  between  gross  vindic- 
tiveness  and  an  evil  which  bore  no  relation  to  the 
vengeful  one. 

"A  financially  honest  man  might  still  have  a 
weakness  for  playing  even  in  a  personal  quar 
rel,"  he  commented.  "Your  story  proves  noth 
ing  more  than  that." 

"I  know  it." 

"But  I  am  going  to  run  the  other  thing  down, 
in 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

too,"  Lidgerwood  insisted.  "Hallock  shall  have 
a  chance  to  clear  himself,  but  if  he  can't  do  it,  he 
can't  stay  with  me." 

At  this  the  trainmaster  changed  front  so  sud 
denly  that  Lidgerwood  began  to  wonder  if  his 
estimate  of  the  man's  courage  was  at  fault. 

"Don't  do  that,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  for  God's 
sake  don't  stir  up  the  devil  in  that  long-haired 
knife-fighter  at  such  a  time  as  this!"  he  begged. 
"The  Lord  knows  you've  got  trouble  enough  on 
hand  as  it  is,  without  digging  up  something  that 
belongs  to  the  has-beens." 

O 

"I  know,  but  justice  is  justice,"  was  the  deci 
sive  rejoinder.  "The  question  is  still  a  live  one, 
as  the  complaint  of  the  grievance  committee 
proves.  If  I  dodge,  my  refusal  to  investigate  will 
be  used  against  us  in  the  labor  trouble  which 
you  say  is  brewing.  I'm  not  going  to  dodge,  Me- 
Closkey." 

The  contortions  of  the  trainmaster's  homely 
features  indicated  an  inward  struggle  of  the  last- 
resort  nature.  When  he  had  reached  a  conclusion 
he  spat  it  out. 

"You  haven't  asked  my  advice,  Mr.  Lidger 
wood,  but  here  it  is  anyway.  Flemister,  the 
owner  of  the  Wire-Silver  mine  over  in  Timanyoni 
Park,  was  the  president  of  that  building  and  loan 

112 


Everyman's  Share 

outfit.  He  and  Hallock  are  at  daggers  drawn, 
for  some  reason  that  I've  never  understood.  If 
you  could  get  them  together,  perhaps  they  could 
make  some  sort  of  a  statement  that  would  quiet 
the  kickers  for  the  time  being,  at  any  rate." 

Lidgerwood  looked  up  quickly.  ' That's  odd," 
he  said.  "No  longer  ago  than  yesterday,  Gridley 
suggested  precisely  the  same  thing. " 

McCloskey  was  on  his  feet  again  and  fumbling 
behind  him  for  the  door-knob. 

"I'm  all  in,"  he  grimaced.  "When  it  comes 
to  figuring  with  Gridley  and  Flemister  and  Hal- 
lock  all  in  the  same  breath,  I'm  done." 

Lidgerwood  made  a  memorandum  on  his  desk 
calendar  to  take  the  building  and  loan  matter  up 
with  Hallock  the  following  day.  But  another  wreck 
intervened,  and  after  the  wreck  a  conference  with 
the  Red  Butte  mine-owners  postponed  all  office 
business  for  an  additional  twenty-four  hours.  It 
was  late  in  the  evening  of  the  third  day  when  the 
superintendent's  special  steamed  home  from  the 
west,  and  Lidgerwood,  who  had  dined  in  his  car, 
went  directly  to  his  office  in  the  Crow's  Nest. 

He  had  scarcely  settled  himself  at  his  desk  for 
an  attack  upon  the  accumulation  of  mail  when 
Benson  came  in.  It  was  a  trouble  call,  and  the 
young  engineer's  face  advertised  it. 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"It's  no  use  talking,  Lidgerwood,"  he  began,  "I 
can't  do  business  on  this  railroad  until  you  have 
killed  off  some  of  the  thugs  and  highbinders. " 

Lidgerwood  flung  the  paper-knife  aside  and 
whirled  his  chair  to  face  the  new  complaint. 

"What  is  the  matter  now,  Jack  ?"   he  snapped. 

"Oh,  nothing  much — when  you're  used  to  it; 
only  about  a  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  dimension 
timber  gone  glimmering.  That's  all. " 

"Tell  it  out,"  rasped  the  superintendent.  The 
mine-owners'  conference,  from  which  he  had  just 
returned,  had  been  called  to  protest  against  the 
poor  service  given  by  the  railroad,  and  knowing 
his  present  inability  to  give  better  service,  he  had 
temporized  until  it  needed  but  this  one  more 
touch  of  the  lash  to  make  him  lose  his  temper 
hopelessly. 

"It's  the  Gloria  bridge,"  said  Benson.  "We 
had  the  timbers  all  ready  to  pull  out  the  old  and 
put  in  the  new,  and  the  shift  was  to  be  made  to 
day  between  trains.  Last  night  every  stick  of  the 
new  stock  disappeared." 

Lidgerwood  was  not  a  profane  man,  but  what 
he  said  to  Benson  in  the  coruscating  minute  or 
two  which  followed  resolved  itself  into  a  very 
fair  imitation  of  profanity,  inclusive  and  world- 
embracing. 

114 


Everyman's  Share 

"And  you  didn't  have  wit  enough  to  leave  a 
watchman  on  the  job!"  he  chafed — this  by  way  of 
putting  an  apex  to  the  pyramid  of  objurgation. 
"By  heavens!  this  thing  has  got  to  stop,  Benson. 
And  it's  going  to  stop,  if  we  have  to  call  out  the 
State  militia  and  picket  every  cursed  mile  of  this 
rotten  railroad!" 

"Do  it,"  said  Benson  gruffly,  "and  when  it's 
done  you  notify  me  and  I'll  come  back  to  work. " 
And  with  that  he  tramped  out,  and  was  too  angry 
to  remember  to  close  the  door. 

Lidgerwood  turned  back  to  his  desk,  savagely 
out  of  humor  with  Benson  and  with  himself,  and 
raging  inwardly  at  the  mysterious  thieves  who 
were  looting  the  company  as  boldly  as  an  invading 
army  might.  At  this,  the  most  inauspicious  mo 
ment  possible,  his  eye  fell  upon  the  calendar  mem 
orandum,  "See  Hallock  about  B/L.,"  and  his 
finger  was  on  the  chief  clerk's  bell-push  before 
he  remembered  that  it  was  late,  and  that  there  had 
been  no  light  in  Hallock's  room  when  he  had 
come  down  the  corridor  to  his  own  door. 

The  touch  of  the  push-button  was  only  a  touch, 
and  there  was  no  answering  skirl  of  the  bell  in  the 
adjoining  room.  But,  as  if  the  intention  had 
evoked  it,  a  shadow  crossed  behind  the  superin 
tendent's  chair  and  came  to  rest  at  the  end  of  the 

"5 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

roll-top  desk.  Lidgerwood  looked  up  with  his 
eyes  aflame.  It  was  Hallock  who  was  standing  at 
the  desk's  end,  and  he  was  pointing  to  the  memo 
randum  on  the  calendar  pad. 

"You  made  that  note  three  days  ago,"  he 
said  abruptly.  "I  saw  your  train  come  in  and 
your  light  go  on.  What  bill  of  lading  was  it  you 
wanted  to  see  me  about?" 

For  an  instant  Lidgerwood  failed  to  understand. 
Then  he  saw  that  in  abbreviating  he  had  uncon 
sciously  used  the  familiar  sign,  "B/L,"  the  com 
mon  abbreviation  of  "bill  of  lading."  At  another 
time  he  would  have  turned  Hallock' s  very  natural 
mistake  into  an  easy  introduction  to  a  rather  deli 
cate  subject.  But  now  he  was  angry. 

"Sit  down,"  he  rapped  out.  "That  isn't  'bill 
of  lading';  it's  'building  and  loan." 

Hallock  dragged  the  one  vacant  chair  into  the 
circle  illuminated  by  the  shaded  desk-electric,  and 
sat  on  the  edge  of  it,  with  his  hands  on  his  knees. 
"Well  ?"  he  said,  in  the  grating  voice  that  was  so 
curiously  like  the  master-mechanic's. 

"We  can  cut  out  the  details,"  this  from  the  man 
who,  under  other  conditions,  would  have  gone  dip 
lomatically  into  the  smallest  details.  "Some 
years  ago  you  were  the  treasurer  of  the  Mesa 
Building  and  Loan  Association.  When  the  associ- 

116 


Everyman's  Share 

ation  went  out  of  business,  its  books  showed  a  cash 
balance  in  the  treasury.  What  became  of  the 
money  ? " 

Hallock  sat  as  rigid  as  a  carved  figure  flanking 
an  Egyptian  propylon,  which  his  attitude  sug 
gested.  He  was  silent  for  a  time,  so  long  a  time 
that  Lidgerwood  burst  out  impatiently,  "Why 
don't  you  answer  me  ? " 

"I  was  just  wondering  if  it  is  worth  while  for 
you  to  throw  me  overboard,"  said  the  chief  clerk, 
speaking  slowly  and  quite  without  heat.  "You 
are  needing  friends  pretty  badly  just  now,  if  you 
only  knew  it,  Mr.  Lidgerwood." 

The  cool  retort,  as  from  an  equal  in  rank,  added 
fresh  fuel  to  the  fire. 

"I'm  not  buying  friends  with  concessions  to 
injustice  and  crooked  dealing,"  Lidgerwood  ex 
ploded.  "You  were  in  the  railroad  service  when 
the  money  was  paid  over  to  you,  and  you  are  in  the 
railroad  service  now.  I  want  to  know  where  the 
money  went. " 

"It  is  none  of  your  business,  Mr.  Lidgerwood/' 
said  the  carved  figure  with  the  gloomy  eyes  that 
never  blinked. 

"By  heavens!  I'm  making  it  my  business, 
Hallock!  These  men  who  were  robbed  say  that 
you  are  an  embezzler,  a  thief.  If  you  are  not, 

117 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

you've  got  to  clear  yourself.  If  you  are,  you  can't 
stay  in  the  Red  Butte  service  another  day:  that's 
all." 

Again  there  was  a  silence  surcharged  with  elec 
tric  possibilities.  Lidgerwood  bit  the  end  from  a 
cigar  and  lost  three  matches  before  he  succeeded 
in  lighting  it.  Hallock  sat  perfectly  still,  but  the 
sallow  tinge  in  his  gaunt  face  had  given  place  to 
a  stony  pallor.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  still  with 
out  anger. 

"I  don't  care  a  damn  for  your  chief  clerkship," 
he  said  calmly,  "  but  for  reasons  of  my  own  I  am 
not  ready  to  quit  on  such  short  notice.  When  I 
am  ready,  you  won't  have  to  discharge  me.  Upon 
what  terms  can  I  stay  ?" 

"I've  stated  them,"  said  the  one  who  was  angry. 
"Discharge  your  trust;  make  good  in  dollars  and 
cents,  or  show  cause  why  you  were  caught  with  an 
empty  cash-box." 

For  the  first  time  in  the  interview  the  chief  clerk 
switched  the  stare  of  the  gloomy  eyes  from  the 
memorandum  desk  calendar,  and  fixed  it  upon 
his  accuser. 

"You  seem  to  take  it  for  granted  that  I  was  the 
only  grafter  in  the  building  and  loan  business," 
he  objected.  "I  wasn't;  on  the  contrary,  I  was 
only  a  necessary  cog  in  the  wheel.  Somebody 

118 


Everyman's  Share 

had  to  make  the  deductions  from  the  pay-rolls, 
and " 

"  I'm  not  asking  you  to  make  excuses/'  stormed 
Lidgerwood.  "I'm  telling  you  that  you've  got  to 
make  good!  If  the  money  was  used  legitimately, 
you,  or  some  of  your  fellow-officers  in  the  com 
pany,  should  be  able  to  show  it.  If  the  others  left 
you  to  hold  the  bag,  it  is  due  to  yourself,  to  the  men 
who  were  held  up,  and  to  me,  that  you  set  your 
self  straight.  Go  to  Flemister — he  was  your 
president,  wasn't  he  ? — and  get  him  to  make  a 
statement  that  I  can  show  to  the  grievance  com 
mittee.  That  will  let  you  out,  and  me,  too. " 

Hallock  stood  up  and  leaned  over  the  desk  end. 
His  saturnine  face  was  a  mask  of  cold  rage,  but 
his  eyes  were  burning. 

"If  I  thought  you  knew  what  you're  saying," 
he  began  in  the  grating  voice,  "but  you  don't — 
you  cant  know!"  Then,  with  a  sudden  break  in 
the  fierce  tone:  "Don't  send  me  to  Flemister  for 
my  clearance — don't  do  it,  Mr.  Lidgerwood.  It's 
playing  with  fire.  I  didn't  steal  the  money;  I'll 
swear  it  on  a  stack  of  Bibles  a  mile  high.  Flem 
ister  will  tell  you  so  if  he  is  paid  his  price.  But 
you  don't  want  me  to  pay  the  price.  If  I  do — 

"Go  on,"  said  Lidgerwood,  frowning,  "if  you 
do,  what  then  ?" 

119 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Hallock  leaned  still  farther  over  the  desk  end. 

"If  I  do,  you'll  get  what  you  are  after — and  a 
good  deal  more.  Again  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
if  it  is  worth  while  to  throw  me  overboard." 

Lidgerwood  was  still  angry  enough  to  resent 
this  advance  into  the  field  of  the  personalities. 

"You've  had  my  last  word,  Hallock,  and  all 
this  talk  about  consequences  that  you  don't  ex 
plain  is  beside  the  mark.  Get  me  that  statement 
from  Flemister,  and  do  it  soon.  I  am  not  going  to 
have  it  said  that  we  are  fighting  graft  in  one  place 
and  covering  it  up  in  another. " 

Hallock  straightened  up  and  buttoned  his  coat. 

"I'll  get  you  the  statement,"  he  said,  quietly; 
"and  the  consequences  won't  need  any  explaining." 
His  hand  was  on  the  door-knob  when  he  finished 
saying  it,  and  Lidgerwood  had  risen  from  his  chair. 
There  was  a  pause,  while  one  might  count  five. 

"Well?"  said  the  superintendent. 

"I  was  thinking  again,"  said  the  man  at  the 
door.  "  By  all  the  rules  of  the  game — the  game  as 
it  is  played  here  in  the  desert — I  ought  to  be  giv 
ing  you  twenty-four  hours  to  get  out  of  gunshot, 
Mr.  Lidgerwood.  Instead  of  that  I  am  going  to 
do  you  a  service.  You  remember  that  operator, 
RufFord,  that  you  discharged  a  few  days  ago  ?" 

"Yes." 

120 


Everyman's  Share 

"Bart  Rufford,  his  brother,  the  'lookout'  at  Red 
Light's  place,  has  invited  a  few  of  his  friends  to 
take  notice  that  he  intends  to  kill  you.  You  can 
take  it  straight.  He  means  it.  And  that  was 
what  brought  me  up  here  to-night — not  that 
memorandum  on  your  desk  calendar." 

For  a  long  time  after  the  door  had  jarred  to  its 
shutting  behind  Hallock,  Lidgerwood  sat  at  his 
desk,  idle  and  abstractedly  thoughtful.  Twice 
within  the  interval  he  pulled  out  a  small  drawer 
under  the  roll-top  and  made  as  if  he  would  take 
up  the  weapon  it  contained,  and  each  time  he  closed 
the  drawer  to  break  with  the  temptation  to  put 
the  pistol  into  his  pocket. 

Later,  after  he  had  forced  himself  to  go  to  work, 
a  door  slammed  somewhere  in  the  despatcher's 
end  of  the  building,  and  automatically  his  hand 
shot  out  to  the  closed  drawer.  Then  he  made  his 
decision  and  carried  it  out.  Taking  the  nickel- 
plated  thing  from  its  hiding-place,  and  breaking 
it  to  eject  the  cartridges,  he  went  to  the  end  door 
of  the  corridor,  which  opened  into  the  unused 
space  under  the  rafters,  and  flung  the  weapon  to 
the  farthest  corner  of  the  dark  loft. 


121 


VII 

THE    KILLER 

LIDGERWOOD  had  found  little  difficulty  in 
getting  on  the  companionable  side  of  Daw- 
son,  so  far  as  the  heavy-muscled,  silent  young 
draftsman  had  a  companionable  side;  and  an  in 
vitation  to  the  family  dinner-table  at  the  Dawson 
cottage  on  the  low  mesa  above  the  town  had 
followed,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Once  within  the  home  circle,  with  Benson  to 
plead  his  cause  with  the  meek  little  woman  whose 
brown  eyes  held  the  shadow  of  a  deep  trouble, 
Lidgerwood  had  still  less  difficulty  in  arranging 
to  share  Benson's  permanent  table  welcome. 
Though  Martha  Dawson  never  admitted  it,  even 
to  her  daughter,  she  stood  in  constant  terror  of 
the  Red  Desert  and  its  representative  town  of 
Angels,  and  the  presence  of  the  superintendent  as 
the  member  of  the  household  promised  to  be  an 
added  guaranty  of  protection. 

Lidgerwood's  acceptance  as  a  table  boarder  in 
the  cottage  on  the  mesa  being  hospitably  prompt, 

122 


The  Killer 

he  was  coming  and  going  as  regularly  as  his 
oversight  of  the  three  hundred  miles  of  demoral 
ization  permitted  before  the  buffoonery  of  the  Red 
Butte  Western  suddenly  laughed  itself  out,  and  war 
was  declared.  In  the  interval  he  had  come  to  con 
cur  very  heartily  in  Benson's  estimate  of  the 
family,  and  to  share — without  Benson's  excuse, 
and  without  any  reason  that  could  be  set  in 
words — the  young  engineer's  opposition  to  Gridley 
as  Miss  Faith's  possible  choice. 

There  was  little  to  be  done  in  this  field,  how 
ever.  Gridley  came  and  went,  not  too  often, 
figuring  always  as  a  friend  of  the  family,  and 
usurping  no  more  of  Miss  Dawson's  time  and  at 
tention  than  she  seemed  willing  to  bestow  upon 
him.  Lidgerwood  saw  no  chance  to  obstruct  and 
no  good  reason  for  obstructing.  At  all  events, 
Gridley  did  not  furnish  the  reason.  And  the 
first  time  Lidgerwood  found  himself  sitting  out 
the  sunset  hour  after  dinner  on  the  tiny  porch  of 
the  mesa  cottage,  with  Faith  Dawson  as  his  com 
panion — this  while  the  joke  was  still  running  its 
course — his  talk  was  not  of  Gridley,  nor  yet  of 
Benson;  it  was  of  himself. 

"How  long  is  it  going  to  be  before  you  are  able 
to  forget  that  I  am  constructively  your  brother's 
boss,  Miss  Faith?"  he  asked,  when  she  had 

123 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

brought  him  a  cushion  for  the  back  of  the  hard 
veranda  chair  in  which  he  was  trying  to  be  luxu 
riously  lazy. 

"Oh,  do  I  remember  it? — disagreeably?"  she 
laughed.  And  then,  with  charming  naivete:  "I 
am  sure  I  try  not  to. " 

"I  am  beginning  to  wish  you  would  try  a  little 
harder/'  he  ventured,  endeavoring  to  put  her 
securely  upon  the  plane  of  companionship.  "It 
is  pretty  lonesome  sometimes,  up  here  on  the 
top  round  of  the  Red-Butte-Western  ladder  of 
authority. " 

"You  mean  that  you  would  like  to  leave  your 
official  dignity  behind  you  when  you  come  to  us 
here  on  the  mesa  ?"  she  asked. 

'  That's  the  idea  precisely.  You  have  no  con 
ception  how  strenuous  it  is,  wearing  the  halo  all  the 
time,  or  perhaps  I  should  say,  the  cap  and  bells." 

She  smiled.  Frederic  Dawson,  the  reticent, 
had  never  spoken  of  the  attitude  of  the  Red  Butte 
Western  toward  its  new  boss,  but  Gridley  had  re 
ferred  to  it  quite  frequently  and  had  made  a  joke 
of  it.  Without  knowing  just  why,  she  had  re 
sented  Gridley's  attitude;  this  notwithstanding 
the  master-mechanic's  genial  affability  whenever 
Lidgerwood  and  his  difficulties  were  the  object  of 
discussion. 

124 


The  Killer 

"They  are  still  refusing  to  take  you  seri 
ously?"  she  said.  "I  hope  you  don't  mind  it 
too  much." 

"Personally,  I  don't  mind  it  at  all,"  he  assured 
her — which  was  sufficiently  true  at  the  moment. 
"The  men  are  acting  like  a  lot  of  foolish  school 
boys  bent  on  discouraging  the  new  teacher.  I  am 
hoping  they  will  settle  down  to  a  sensible  basis 
after  a  bit,  and  take  me  and  the  new  order  of  things 
for  granted." 

Miss  Dawson  had  something  on  her  mind;  a 
thing  not  gathered  from  Gridley  or  from  any  one 
else  in  particular,  but  which  seemed  to  take  shape 
of  itself.  The  effect  of  setting  it  in  speech  asked 
for  a  complete  effacement  of  Lidgerwood  the  su 
perintendent,  and  that  was  rather  difficult.  But 
she  compassed  it. 

"  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  take  them  so  much 
for  granted — the  men,  I  mean,"  she  cautioned. 
"I  can't  help  feeling  afraid  that  some  of  the  joking 
is  not  quite  good-natured." 

"I  fancy  very  little  of  it  is  what  you  would  call 
good-natured,"  he  rejoined  evenly.  "Very  much 
of  it  is  thinly  disguised  contempt." 

"For  your  authority  ?" 

"For  me,  personally,  first;  and  for  my  authority 
as  a  close  second." 

125 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Then  you  are  anticipating  trouble  when  the 
laugh  is  over  ?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "I'm  hoping  No,  as  I  said 
a  moment  ago,  but  I'm  expecting  Yes." 

"  And  you  are  not  afraid  ? " 

It  would  have  been  worth  a  great  deal  to  him  if 
he  could  have  looked  fearlessly  into  the  clear  gray 
eyes  of  questioning,  giving  her  a  brave  man's 
denial.  But  instead,  his  gaze  went  beyond  her 
and  he  said:  "You  surely  wouldn't  expect  me  to 
confess  it  if  I  were  afraid,  would  you  ?  Don't 
you  despise  a  coward,  Miss  Dawson  ?" 

The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  Timanyonis, 
and  the  soft  glow  of  the  western  sky  suffused  her 
face,  illuminating  it  with  rare  radiance.  It  was 
not,  in  the  last  analysis,  a  beautiful  face,  he  told 
himself,  comparing  it  with  another  whose  out 
lines  were  bitten  deeply  and  beyond  all  hope  of 
erasure  into  the  memory  page.  Yet  the  face  warm 
ing  softly  in  the  sunset  glow  was  sweet  and  win 
some,  attractive  in  the  best  sense  of  the  overworked 
word.  At  the  moment  Lidgerwood  rather  en 
vied  Benson — or  Gridley,  whichever  one  of  the 
two  it  was  for  whom  Miss  Dawson  cared  the 
most. 

"There  are  so  many  different  kinds  of  cowards," 
she  said,  after  the  reflective  interval. 

126 


The  Killer 

"But  they  are  all  equally  despicable?"  he  sug 
gested. 

uThe  real  ones  are,  perhaps.  But  our  definitions 
are  often  careless.  My  grandfather,  who  was  a 
captain  of  volunteers  in  the  Civil  War,  used  to 
say  that  real  cowardice  is  either  a  psychological 
condition  or  a  soul  disease,  and  that  what  we 
call  the  physical  symptoms  of  it  are  often  mis 
leading." 

"For  example  ?"   said  Lidgerwood. 

"Grandfather  used  to  be  fond  of  contrasting  the 
camp-fire  bully  and  braggart,  as  one  extreme,  with 
the  soldier  who  was  frankly  afraid  of  getting  killed, 
as  the  other.  It  was  his  theory  that  the  man  who 
dodged  the  first  few  bullets  in  a  battle  was  quite 
likely  to  turn  out  to  be  the  real  hero. " 

Lidgerwood  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
probe  the  old  wound. 

"Suppose,  under  some  sudden  stress,  some  to 
tally  unexpected  trial,  a  man  who  was  very  much 
afraid  of  being  afraid  found  himself  morally  and 
physically  unable  to  do  the  courageous  thing. 
Wouldn't  he  be,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a  real 
coward  ? " 

She  took  time  to  think. 

"No,"  she  said  finally,  "I  wouldn't  say  that. 
I  should  wait  until  I  had  seen  the  same  man  tried 

127 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

under  conditions  that  would  give  him  time,  time 
to  think  first  and  to  act  afterward." 

"Would  you  really  do  that?"  he  asked  doubt 
fully. 

uYes,  I  should.  A  trial  of  the  kind  you  de 
scribe  isn't  quite  fair.  Acute  presence  of  mind 
in  an  emergency  is  not  a  supreme  test  of  anything 
except  of  itself;  least  of  all,  perhaps,  is  it  a  test  of 
courage — I  mean  courage  of  that  quality  which 
endures  to-day  and  faces  without  flinching  the 
threatening  to-morrow." 

"And  you  think  the  man  who  might  be  surprised 
into  doing  something  very  disgraceful  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment  might  still  have  that  other  kind  of 
courage,  Miss  Faith?" 

"Certainly."  She  was  far  enough  from  making 
any  personal  application  of  the  test  case  suggested 
by  the  superintendent.  But  in  a  world  which  took 
its  keynote  from  the  harsh  discords  of  the  Red 
Desert,  these  little  thoughtful  talks  with  a  man 
who  was  most  emphatically  not  of  the  Red  Desert 
were  refreshing.  And  she  could  scarcely  have  been 
Martha  Dawson's  daughter  or  Frederic  Dawson's 
sister  without  having  a  thoughtful  cast  of  mind. 

Lidgerwood  rose  and  felt  in  his  pockets  for  his 
after-dinner  cigar. 

"You    are    much    more    charitable    than    most 

128 


The  Killer 

women,  Miss  Dawson,"  he  said  gravely;  after 
which  he  left  abruptly,  and  went  back  to  his  desk 
in  the  Crow's  Nest. 

As  we  have  seen,  this  bit  of  confidential  talk  be 
tween  the  superintendent  and  Faith  Dawson  fell 
in  the  period  of  the  jesting  horse-laugh;  fell,  as  it 
chanced,  on  a  day  when  the  horse-laugh  was  at  its 
height.  Later,  after  the  storm  broke,  there  were 
no  more  quiet  evenings  on  the  cottage  porch  for  a 
harassed  superintendent.  Lidgerwood  came  and 
went  as  before,  when  the  rapidly  recurring  wrecks 
did  not  keep  him  out  on  the  line,  but  he  scrupu 
lously  left  his  troubles  behind  him  when  he 
climbed  to  the  cottage  on  the  mesa. 

Quite  naturally,  his  silence  on  the  one  topic 
which  was  stirring  the  Red  Desert  from  the 
Crosswater  Hills  to  Timanyoni  Canyon  was  a 
poor  mask.  The  increasing  gravity  of  the  situa 
tion  wrote  itself  plainly  enough  in  his  face,  and 
Faith  Dawson  was  sorry  for  him,  giving  him  silent 
sympathy,  unasked,  if  not  wholly  unexpected. 
The  town  talk  of  Angels,  what  little  of  it  reached 
the  cottage,  was  harshly  condemnatory  of  the  new 
superintendent;  and  public  opinion,  standing  for 
what  it  was  worth,  feared  no  denial  when  it  as 
serted  that  Lidgerwood  was  doing  what  he  could  to 
earn  his  newer  reputation. 

129 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

After  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  the 
switching-engine — mystery  still  unsolved  and  ap 
parently  unsolvable — he  struck  fast  and  hard, 
searching  painstakingly  for  the  leaders  in  the  re 
bellion,  reprimanding,  suspending,  and  discharg 
ing  until  McCloskey  warned  him  that,  in  addition 
to  the  evil  of  short-handing  the  road,  he  was 
filling  Angels  with  a  growing  army  of  ex-em 
ployees,  desperate  and  ripe  for  anything. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Mac,"  was  his  invariable 
reply.  "Unless  they  put  me  out  of  the  fight  I 
shall  go  on  as  I  have  begun,  staying  with  it  until 
we  have  a  railroad  in  fact — or  a  forfeited  charter. 
Do  the  best  you  can,  but  let  it  be  plainly  and  dis 
tinctly  understood  that  the  man  who  isn't  with  us 
is  against  us,  and  the  man  who  is  against  us  is 
going  to  get  a  chance  to  hunt  for  a  new  job  every 


time." 


Whereupon  the  trainmaster's  homely  face  would 
take  on  added  furrowings  of  distress. 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Lidgerwood;  that  is 
stout,  two-fisted  talk  all  right;  and  I'm  not  doubt 
ing  that  you  mean  every  word  of  it.  But — they'll 
murder  you." 

"That  is  neither  here  nor  there — what  they  will 
do  to  me.  I  handled  them  with  gloves  at  first,  but 
they  wanted  the  bare  fist.  They've  got  it  now, 

130 


The  Killer 

and  as  I  have  said  before,  we  are  going  to  fight 
this  thing  through  to  a  complete  and  artistic  fin 
ish.  Who  goes  east  on  202  to-day  ?" 

"It  is  Judson's  run,  but  he  is  laying  off." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him — sick  ?" 

"No;  just  plain  drunk." 

"Fire  him.  I  won't  have  a  single  solitary  man 
in  the  train  service  who  gets  drunk.  Tell  him  so." 

"All  right;  one  more  stick  of  dynamite,  with  a 
cap  and  fuse  in  it,  turned  loose  under  foot," 
prophesied  McCloskey  gloomily.  "  Judson  goes. " 

"Never  mind  the  dynamite.  Now,  what  has 
been  done  with  Johnston,  that  conductor  who 
turned  in  three  dollars  as  the  total  cash  collections 
for  a  hundred-and-fifty-mile  run  ? " 

"I've  had  him  up.  He  grinned  and  said  that 
that  was  all  the  money  there  was — everybody  had 
tickets." 

"You  don't  believe  it?" 

"No;  Grantby,  the  superintendent  of  the  Ruby 
Mine,  came  in  on  Johnston's  train  that  morning 
and  he  registered  a  kick  because  the  Ruby  Gulch 
station  agent  wasn't  out  of  bed  in  time  to  sell  him 
a  ticket.  He  paid  Johnston  on  the  train,  and  that 
one  fare  alone  was  five  dollars  and  sixty  cents." 

Lidgerwood  was  adding  another  minute  square 
to  the  pencilled  checker-board  on  his  desk  blotter. 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Discharge  Johnston  and  hold  back  his  time- 
check.  Then  have  him  arrested  for  stealing,  and 
wire  the  legal  department  at  Denver  that  I  want 
him  prosecuted." 

Again  McCloskey's  rough-cast  face  became  the 
outward  presentment  of  a  soul  in  anxious  trouble. 

"Call  it  done — and  another  stick  of  dynamite 
turned  loose,"  he  acquiesced.  "Is  there  anything 
else?" 

"Yes.  What  have  you  found  out  about  that 
missing  switch-engine?"  This  had  come  to  be 
the  stereotyped  query,  vocalizing  itself  every  time 
the  trainmaster  showed  his  face  in  the  superin 
tendent's  room. 

"Nothing,  yet.     I'm  hunting  for  proof." 

"Against  the  men  you  suspect  ?  Who  are  they, 
and  what  did  they  do  with  the  engine  ?" 

McCloskey  became  dumb. 

"I  don't  dare  to  say  part  of  it  till  I  can  say  it  all, 
Mr.  Lidgerwood.  You  hit  too  quick  and  too  hard. 
But  tell  me  one  thing:  have  you  had  to  report  the 
loss  of  that  engine  to  anybody  higher  up  ?" 

"I  shall  have  to  report  it  to  General  Manager 
Frisbie,  of  course,  if  we  don't  find  it." 

"But  haven't  you  already  reported  it  ?" 

"No;  that  is,  I  guess  not.     Wait  a  minute." 

A  touch  of  the  bell-push  brought  Hallock  to  the 
132 


The  Killer 

door  of  the  inner  office.  The  green  shade  was 
pulled  low  over  his  eyes,  and  he  held  the  pen  he  had 
been  using  as  if  it  were  a  dagger. 

"Hallock,  have  you  reported  the  disappearance 
of  that  switching-engine  to  Mr.  Frisbie?"  asked 
the  superintendent. 

The  answer  seemed  reluctant,  and  it  was  given 
in  the  single  word  of  assent. 

"When?"    asked  Lidgerwood. 

"In  the  weekly  summary  for  last  week;  you 
signed  it,"  said  the  chief  clerk. 

"Did  I  tell  you  to  include  that  particular  item 
in  the  report  ?"  Lidgerwood  did  not  mean  to  give 
the  inquiry  the  tang  of  an  implied  reproof,  but  the 
fight  with  the  outlaws  was  beginning  to  make  his 
manner  incisive. 

"You  didn't  need  to  tell  me;  I  know  my  busi 
ness,"  said  Hallock,  and  his  tone  matched  his 
superior's. 

Lidgerwood  looked  at  McCloskey,  and,  at  the 
trainmaster's  almost  imperceptible  nod,  said, 
"That's  all,"  and  Hallock  disappeared  and  closed 
the  door. 

"Well?"  queried  Lidgerwood  sharply,  when 
they  had  privacy  again. 

McCloskey  was  shifting  uneasily  from  one  foot 
to  the  other. 

133 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"My  name's  Scotch,  and  they  tell  me  I've  got 
Scotch  blood  in  me,"  he  began.  "I  don't  like  to 
shoot  my  mouth  off  till  I  know  what  I'm  doing. 
I  suppose  I  quarrelled  with  Hallock  once  a  day, 
regular,  before  you  came  on  the  job,  Mr.  Lidger- 
wood,  and  I'll  say  again  that  I  don't  like  him— 
never  did.  That's  what  makes  me  careful  about 
throwing  it  into  him  now." 

"Go  on,"  said  Lidgerwood. 

"Well,  you  know  he  wanted  to  be  superintend 
ent  of  this  road.  He  kept  the  wires  to  New  York 
hot  for  a  week  after  he  found  out  that  the  P.  S-W. 
was  in  control.  He  missed  it,  and  you  naturally 
took  it  over  his  head — at  least,  maybe  that's  the 
way  he  looks  at  it. " 

"Take  it  for  granted  and  get  to  the  point," 
urged  Lidgerwood,  always  impatient  of  prelim 
inary  bush-beating. 

"There  isn't  any  point,  if  you  don't  see  any," 
said  McCloskey  stubbornly.  "  But  I  can  tell  you 
how  it  would  strike  me,  if  I  had  to  be  wearing  your 
shoes  just  now.  You've  got  a  man  for  your  chief 
clerk  who  has  kept  this  whole  town  guessing  for 
two  years.  Some  say  he  isn't  all  to  the  bad;  some 
say  he  is  a  woman-killer;  but  they  all  agree  that 
he's  as  spiteful  as  an  Indian.  He  wanted  your 
job:  supposing  he  still  wants  it." 

134 


The  Killer 

"Stick  to  the  facts,  Mac,"  said  the  superintend 
ent.  "You're  theorizing  now,  you  know. " 

"Well,  by  gravels,  I  will!"  rasped  McCloskey, 
pushed  over  the  cautionary  edge  by  Lidgerwood's 
indifference  to  the  main  question  at  issue.  "What 
I  know  don't  amount  to  much  yet,  but  it  all  leans 
one  way.  Hallock  puts  in  his  daytime  scratching 
away  at  his  desk  out  there,  and  you'd  think  he 
didn't  know  it  was  this  year.  But  when  that  desk 
is  shut  up,  you'll  find  him  at  the  roundhouse,  over 
in  the  freight  yard,  round  the  switch  shanties,  or 
up  at  Biggs's — anywhere  he  can  get  half  a  dozen 
of  the  men  together.  I  haven't  found  a  man  yet 
that  I  could  trust  to  keep  tab  on  him,  and  I  don't 
know  what  he's  doing;  but  I  can  guess." 

"Is  that  all?"    said  Lidgerwood  quietly. 

"No,  it  isn't!  That  switch-engine  dropped  out 
two  weeks  ago  last  Tuesday  night.  I've  been 
prying  into  this  locked-up  puzzle-box  every  way  I 
could  think  of  ever  since.  Hallock  knows  where 
that  engine  went!" 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"I'll  tell  you.  Robinson,  the  night-crew  engi 
neer,  was  a  little  late  leaving  her  that  night.  His 
fireman  had  gone  home,  and  so  had  the  yardmen. 
After  he  had  crossed  the  yard  coming  out,  he  saw 
a  man  sneaking  toward  the  shifter,  keeping  in  the 

135 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

shadow  of  the  coal-chutes.  He  was  just  curious 
enough  to  want  to  know  who  it  was,  and  he  made 
a  little  sneak  of  his  own.  When  he  found  it  was 
Hallock,  he  went  home  and  thought  no  more  about 
it  till  I  got  him  to  talk." 

Lidgerwood  had  gone  back  to  the  pencil  and 
the  blotting-pad  and  the  making  of  squares. 
"But  the  motive,  Mac?"  he  questioned,  without 
looking  up.  "How  could  the  theft  or  the  destruc 
tion  of  a  locomotive  serve  any  purpose  that  Hal- 
lock  might  have  in  view  ?" 

McCloskey  did  not  mean  any  disrespect  to  his 
superior  officer  when  he  retorted:  "I'm  no  'cyclo 
paedia.  There  are  lots  of  things  I  don't  know. 
But  unless  you  call  it  off,  I'm  going  to  know  a  few 
more  of  them  before  I  quit." 

"I  don't  call  it  off,  Mac;  find  out  what  you  can. 
But  I  can't  believe  that  Hallock  is  heading  this 
organized  robbery  and  rebellion." 

"Somebody  is  heading  it,  to  a  dead  moral  cer 
tainty,  Mr.  Lidgerwood;  the  licks  are  coming  too 
straight  and  too  well-timed." 

"Find  the  man  if  you  can,  and  we'll  eliminate 
him.  And,  by  the  way,  if  it  comes  to  the  worst, 
how  will  Hepburn,  the  town  marshal,  stand  ?" 

The  trainmaster  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know.     Jack's  got  plenty  of  sand,  but 


The  Killer 

he  was  elected  out  of  the  shops,  and  by  the  railroad 
vote.  If  it  comes  to  a  show-down  against  the  men 
who  elected  him 

"That  is  what  I  mean,"  nodded  Lidgerwood. 
"It  will  come  to  a  show-down  sooner  or  later,  if  we 
can't  nip  the  ringleaders.  Young  Rufford  and 
a  dozen  more  of  the  dropped  employees  are  threat 
ening  to  get  even.  That  means  train-wrecking, 
misplaced  switches,  arson — anything  you  like. 
At  the  first  break  there  are  going  to  be  some 
very  striking  examples  made  of  all  the  wreckers 
and  looters  we  can  land  on." 

McCloskey's  chair  faced  the  window,  and  he 
was  scowling  and  mouthing  at  the  tall  chimney  of 
the  shop  power-plant  across  the  tracks.  Where 
had  he  fallen  upon  the  idea  that  this  carefully 
laundered  gentleman,  who  never  missed  his  daily 
plunge  and  scrub,  and  still  wore  immaculate  linen, 
lacked  the  confidence  of  his  opinions  and  con 
victions  ?  The  trainmaster  knew,  and  he  thought 
Lidgerwood  must  also  know,  that  the  first  blow  of 
the  vengeful  ones  would  be  directed  at  the  man 
rather  than  at  the  company's  property. 

"I  guess  maybe  Hepburn  will  do  his  duty  when 
it  comes  to  the  pinch,"  he  said  finally.  And  the 
subject  having  apparently  exhausted  itself,  he  went 
about  his  business,  which  was  to  call  up  the  tele- 

137 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

graph  operator  at  Timanyoni  to  ask  why  he  had 
broken  the  rule  requiring  the  conductor  and  en 
gineer,  both  of  them,  to  sign  train  orders  in  his 
presence. 

Thereupon,  quite  in  keeping  with  the  militant 
state  of  affairs  on  a  harassed  Red  Butte  Western, 
ensued  a  sharp  and  abusive  wire  quarrel  at  long 
range;  and  when  it  was  over,  Timanyoni  was  tem 
porarily  stricken  from  the  list  of  night  telegraph 
stations  pending  the  hastening  forward  of  a  relief 
operator,  to  take  the  place  of  the  one  who,  with 
many  profane  objurgations  curiously  clipped  in 
rattling  Morse,  had  wired  his  opinion  of  Mc- 
Closkey  and  the  new  superintendent,  closely  in 
terwoven  with  his  resignation. 

It  was  after  dark  that  evening  when  Lidger- 
wood  closed  his  desk  on  the  pencilled  blotting-pad 
and  groped  his  way  down  the  unlighted  stair  to  the 
Crow's  Nest  platform. 

The  day  passenger  from  the  east  was  in,  and 
the  hostler  had  just  coupled  Engine  266  to  the 
train  for  the  night  run  to  Red  Butte.  Lidger- 
wood  marked  the  engine's  number,  and  saw  Daw- 
son  talking  to  Williams,  the  engineer,  as  he  turned 
the  corner  at  the  passenger-station  end  of  the  build 
ing.  Later,  when  he  was  crossing  the  open  plaza 
separating  the  railroad  yard  from  the  town,  he 

138 


His  hand  was  on  the  latch  of  the  door-yard  gate  when  a  man 
rose  out  of  the  gloom. 


The  Killer 

thought  he  heard  the  draftsman's  step  behind  him, 
and  waited  for  Dawson  to  come  up. 

The  rearward  darkness,  made  blacker  by  con 
trast  with  the  white  beam  of  the  266's  headlight, 
yielding  no  one  and  no  further  sounds,  he  went  on, 
past  the  tar-paper-covered  hotel,  past  the  flanking 
of  saloons  and  the  false-fronted  shops,  past  the 
"Arcade"  with  its  crimson  sidewalk  eye  setting 
the  danger  signal  for  all  who  should  enter  Red- 
Light  Sammy's,  and  so  up  to  the  mesa  and  to  the 
cottage  of  seven-o'clock  dinners. 

His  hand  was  on  the  latch  of  the  dooryard  gate 
when  a  man  rose  out  of  the  gloom — out  of  the 
ground  at  his  feet,  as  it  appeared  to  Lidgerwood— 
and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  night  and  the 
starry  dome  of  it  were  effaced  for  the  superin 
tendent  in  a  flash  of  red  lightning  and  a  thunder 
clap  louder  than  the  crash  of  worlds. 

When  he  began  to  realize  again,  Dawson  was 
helping  him  to  his  feet,  and  the  draftsman's 
mother  was  calling  anxiously  from  the  door. 

"What  was  it?"  Lidgerwood  asked,  still  dazed 
and  half  blinded. 

"A  man  tried  to  kill  you,"  said  Dawson  in  his 
most  matter-of-fact  tone.  "I  happened  along 
just  in  time  to  joggle  his  arm.  That,  and  your 
quick  drop,  did  the  business.  Not  hurt,  are  you  ?" 

139 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Lidgerwood  was  gripping  the  gate  and  trying 
to  steady  himself.  A  chill,  like  a  violent  attack  of 
ague,  was  shaking  him  to  the  bone. 

"No,"  he  returned,  mastering  the  chattering 
teeth  by  the  supremest  effort  of  will.  "Thanks 
to  you,  I  guess — Fm — not  hurt.  Who  w-was  the 
man?" 

"It  was  Rufford.  He  followed  you  from  the 
Crow's  Nest.  Williams  saw  him  and  put  me  on, 
so  I  followed  him." 

"Williams  ?     Then  he  isn't " 

"No,"  said  Dawson,  anticipating  the  query. 
"He  is  with  us,  and  he  is  swinging  the  best  of  the 
engineers  into  line.  But  come  into  the  house  and 
let  me  give  you  a  drop  of  whiskey.  This  thing 
has  got  on  your  nerves  a  bit — and  no  wonder." 

But  Lidgerwood  clung  to  the  gate-palings  for 
yet  another  steadying  moment. 

"RufFord,  you  said:  you  mean  the  discharged 
telegraph  operator?" 

"Worse  luck,"  said  Dawson.  "It  was  his 
brother  Bart,  the  ' lookout'  at  Red-Light  Sammy's; 
the  fellow  they  call  'The  Killer'." 


140 


VIII 
BENSON'S  BRIDGE-TIMBERS 

IT  was  on  the  morning  following  the  startling 
episode  at  the  Dawsons'  gate  that  Benson, 
lately  arrived  from  the  west  on  train  204,  came 
into  the  superintendent's  office  with  the  light  of 
discovery  in  his  eye.  But  the  discovery,  if  any 
there  were,  was  made  to  wait  upon  a  word  of 
friendly  solicitude. 

"What's  this  they  were  telling  me  down  at  the 
lunch-counter  just  now — about  somebody  taking  a 
pot-shot  at  you  last  night?"  he  asked.  "Dough 
erty  said  it  was  Bart  Rufford;  was  it  ?" 

Lidgerwood  confirmed  the  gossip  with  a  nod. 
"Yes,  it  was  RufFord,  so  Dawson  says.  I  didn't 
recognize  him,  though;  it  was  too  dark." 

"Well,  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  that  he  didn't 
get  you.  What  was  the  row  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  definitely;  I  suppose  it  was  be 
cause  I  told  McCloskey  to  discharge  his  brother 
a  while  back.  The  brother  has  been  hanging 
about  town  and  making  threats  ever  since  he  was 

141 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

dropped  from  the  pay-rolls,  but  no  one  has  paid 
any  attention  to  him." 

"A  pretty  close  call,  wasn't  it? — or  was  Dough 
erty  only  putting  on  a  few  frills  to  go  with  my  cup 
of  coffee?" 

"It  was  close  enough,"  admitted  Lidgerwood 
half  absently.  He  was  thinking  not  so  much  of 
the  narrow  escape  as  of  the  fresh  and  humiliating 
evidence  it  had  afforded  of  his  own  wretched  un 
readiness. 

"All  right;  you'll  come  around  to  my  way  of 
thinking  after  a  while.  I  tell  you,  Lidgerwood, 
you've  got  to  heel  yourself  when  you  live  in  a  gun 
country.  I  said  I  wouldn't  do  it,  but  I  have  done 
it,  and  I'll  tell  you  right  now,  when  anybody  in  this 
blasted  desert  makes  monkey-motions  at  me,  I'm 
going  to  blow  the  top  of  his  head  off,  quick." 

Lidgerwood's  gaze  was  resting  on  the  little 
drawer  in  his  desk  which  now  contained  nothing 
but  a  handful  of  loose  cartridges. 

"Hasn't  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  Jack,  that  I 
am  the  one  man  in  the  desert  who  cannot  afford 
to  go  armed  ?  I  am  supposed  to  stand  for  law 
and  order.  What  would  my  example  be  worth  if 
it  should  be  noised  around  that  I,  too,  had  become 
a  'gun-toter'  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  argue  with  you,"  laughed 
142 


Benson's  Bridge-Timbers 

Benson.  "You'll  go  your  own  way  and  do  as  you 
please,  and  probably  get  yourself  comfortably  shot 
up  before  you  get  through.  But  I  didn't  come  up 
here  to  wrangle  with  you  about  your  theoretical 
notions  of  law  and  order.  I  came  to  tell  you  that 
I  have  been  hunting  for  those  bridge-timbers  of 


mine." 


"Well  ?"  queried  Lidgerwood;  "have  you  found 
them?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  believe  anybody  will  ever  find 
them.  It's  going  to  be  another  case  of  Rachel 
weeping  for  her  children  and  refusing  to  be  com 
forted  because  they  are  not." 

"But  you  have  discovered  something  ?" 

"  Partly  yes,  and  partly  no.  I  think  I  told  you 
at  the  time  that  they  vanished  between  two  days 
like  a  puff  of  smoke,  leaving  no  trace  behind  them. 
How  it  was  done  I  couldn't  imagine.  There  is  a 
wagon-road  paralleling  the  river  over  there  at  the 
Siding,  as  you  know,  and  the  first  thing  I  did  the 
next  morning  was  to  look  for  wagon-tracks.  No 
set  of  wheels  carrying  anything  as  heavy  as  those 
twelve-by-twelve  twenty- fours  had  gone  over  the 
road." 

"How  were  they  taken,  then?  They  couldn't 
have  been  floated  off  down  the  river,  could 
they?" 

H3 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"It  was  possible,  but  not  at  all  probable,"  said 
the  engineer.  "My  theory  was  that  they  were 
taken  away  on  somebody's  railroad  car.  There 
were  only  two  sources  of  information,  at  first — the 
night  operator  at  Little  Butte  twelve  miles  west, 
and  the  track-walker  at  Point-of-Rocks,  whose 
beat  goes  down  to  within  two  or  three  miles  of  the 
Gloria  bridge.  Goodloe,  at  Little  Butte,  reports 
that  there  was  nothing  moving  on  the  main  line 
after  the  passing  of  the  midnight  freight  east; 
and  Shaughnessy,  the  track-walker,  is  just  a  plain, 
unvarnished  liar:  he  knows  a  lot  more  than  he 
will  tell." 

"Still,  you  are  looking  a  good  bit  more  cheerful 
than  you  were  last  week,"  was  Lidgerwood's 
suggestion. 

uYes;  after  I  got  the  work  started  again  with 
a  new  set  of  timbers,  I  spent  three  or  four  days 
on  the  ground  digging  for  information  like  a  dog 
after  a  woodchuck.  There  are  some  prospectors 
panning  on  the  bar  three  miles  up  the  Gloria,  but 
they  knew  nothing — or  if  they  knew  they  wouldn't 
tell.  That  was  the  case  with  every  man  I  talked 
to  on  our  side  of  the  river.  But  over  across  the 
Timanyoni,  nearly  opposite  the  mouth  of  the 
Gloria,  there  is  a  little  creek  coming  in  from  the 
north,  and  on  this  creek  I  found  a  lone  prospector 

144 


Benson's  Bridge-Timbers 

— a  queer  old  chap  who  hails  from  my  neck  of 
woods  up  in  Michigan." 

"Go  on,"  said  Lidgerwood,  when  the  engineer 
stopped  to  light  his  pipe. 

"The  old  man  told  me  a  fairy  tale,  all  right," 
Benson  went  on.  "He  was  as  full  of  fancies  as  a 
fig  is  of  seeds.  I  have  been  trying  to  believe  that 
what  he  told  me  isn't  altogether  a  pipe-dream,  but 
it  sounds  mightily  like  one.  He  says  that  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  Saturday,  two  weeks 
ago,  an  engine  and  a  single  car  backed  down  from 
the  west  to  the  Gloria  bridge,  and  a  crowd  of  men 
swarmed  off  the  train,  loaded  those  bridge-timbers, 
and  ran  away  with  them,  going  back  up  the  line 
to  the  west.  He  tells  it  all  very  circumstantially, 
though  he  neglected  to  explain  how  he  happened 
to  be  awake  and  on  guard  at  any  such  unearthly 
hour." 

"Where  was  he  when  he  saw  all  this  ?" 

"On  his  own  side  of  the  river,  of  course.  It 
was  a  dark  night,  and  the  engine  had  no  headlight. 
But  the  loading  gang  had  plenty  of  lanterns,  and 
he  says  they  made  plenty  of  noise." 

"You  didn't  let  it  rest  at  that?"  said  the  su 
perintendent. 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!  I  put  in  the  entire  afternoon 
that  day  on  a  hand-car  with  four  of  my  men  to 

H5 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

pump  it  for  me,  and  if  there  is  a  foot  of  the  main 
line,  side-tracks,  or  spurs,  west  of  the  Gloria  bridge, 
that  I  haven't  gone  over,  I  don't  know  where  it  is. 
The  next  night  I  crossed  the  Timanyoni  and 
tackled  the  old  prospector  again.  I  wanted  to 
check  him  up — see  if  he  had  forgotten  any  of  the 
little  frills  and  details.  He  hadn't.  On  the  con 
trary,  he  was  able  to  add  what  seems  to  me  a 
very  important  detail.  About  an  hour  after  the 
disappearance  of  the  one-car  train  with  my  bridge- 
timbers,  he  heard  something  that  he  had  heard 
many  times  before.  He  says  it  was  the  high- 
pitched  song  of  a  circular  saw.  I  asked  him  if  he 
was  sure.  He  grinned  and  said  he  hadn't  been 
brought  up  in  the  Michigan  woods  without  being 
able  to  recognize  that  song  wherever  he  might 
hear  it." 

"Whereupon  you  went  hunting  for  saw-mills  ?" 
asked  Lidgerwood. 

'That  is  just  what  I  did,  and  if  there  is  one 
within  hearing  distance  of  that  old  man's  cabin 
on  Quartz  Creek,  I  couldn't  find  it.  But  I  am 
confident  that  there  is  one,  and  that  the  thieves, 
whoever  they  were,  lost  no  time  in  sawing  my 
bridge-timbers  up  into  board-lumber,  and  I'll  bet 
a  hen  worth  fifty  dollars  against  a  no-account 
yellow  dog  that  I  have  seen  those  boards  a  dozen 

146 


Benson's  Bridge-Timbers 

times  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  without 
knowing  it." 

"Didn't  see  anything  of  our  switch-engine  while 
you  were  looking  for  your  bridge-timbers  and  saw 
mills  and  other  things,  did  you  ?"  queried  Lidger- 
wood. 

"No,"  was  the  quick  reply,  "no,  but  I  have  a 
think  coming  on  that,  too.  My  old  prospector 
says  he  couldn't  make  out  very  well  in  the  dark, 
but  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  engine  which  hauled 
away  our  bridge-timbers  didn't  have  any  tender. 
How  does  that  strike  you  ?" 

Lidgerwood  grew  thoughtful.  The  missing  en 
gine  was  of  the  "saddle-tank"  type,  and  it  had  no 
tender.  It  was  hard  to  believe  that  it  could  be 
hidden  anywhere  on  so  small  a  part  of  the  Red 
Butte  Western  system  as  that  covered  by  the  com 
paratively  short  mileage  in  Timanyoni  Park.  Yet 
if  it  had  not  been  dumped  into  some  deep  pot-hole 
in  the  river,  it  was  unquestionably  hidden  some 
where. 

"Benson,  are  you  sure  you  went  over  all  the 
line  lying  west  of  the  Gloria  bridge?"  he  asked 
pointedly. 

"Every  foot  of  it,  up  one  side  and  down  the 
other  .  .  .  No,  hold  on,  there  is  that  old  spur  run 
ning  up  on  the  eastern  side  of  Little  Butte;  it's  the 

H7 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

one  that  used  to  serve  Flemister's  mine  when  the 
workings  were  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  butte. 
I  didn't  go  over  that  spur.  It  hasn't  been  used  for 
years;  as  I  remember  it,  the  switch  connections 
with  the  main  line  have  been  taken  out." 

" You're  wrong  about  that,"  said  Lidgerwood 
definitely.  "McCloskey  thought  so  too,  and  told 
me  that  the  frogs  and  point-rails  had  been  taken 
out  at  Silver  Switch — at  both  of  the  main-line 
ends  of  the  *Y,' — but  the  last  time  I  was  over 
the  line  I  noticed  that  the  old  switch  stands 
were  there,  and  that  the  split  rails  were  still  in 
place." 

Benson  had  been  tilting  comfortably  in  his  chair, 
smoking  his  pipe,  but  at  this  he  got  up  quickly 
and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Say,  Lidgerwood,  I'm  going  back  to  the  Park 
on  Extra  71,  which  ought  to  leave  in  about  five 
minutes,"  he  said  hurriedly.  'Tell  me  half  a 
dozen  things  in  just  about  as  many  seconds.  Has 
Flemister  used  that  spur  since  you  took  charge  of 
the  road?" 

"No." 

"Have  you  ever  suspected  him  of  being  mixed 
up  in  the  looting  ?" 

"I  haven't  known  enough  about  him  to  form 
an  opinion." 

148 


Benson's  Bridge-Timbers 

Benson  stepped  to  the  door  communicating  with 
the  outer  office,  and  closed  it  quietly. 

"Your  man  Hallock  out  there — how  is  he 
mixed  up  with  Flemister?" 

"I  don't  know.     Why?" 

"Because,  the  day  before  yesterday,  when  I  was 
on  the  Little  Butte  station  platform,  talking  with 
Goodloe,  I  saw  Flemister  and  Hallock  walking 
down  the  new  spur  together.  When  they  saw  me, 
they  turned  around  and  began  to  walk  back  to 
ward  the  mine." 

"Hallock  had  business  with  Flemister,  I  know 
that  much,  and  he  took  half  a  day  off  Thursday  to 
go  and  see  him,"  said  the  superintendent. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  what  the  business 
was?" 

"Yes,  I  do.     He  went  at  my  request." 

"H'm,"  said  Benson,  "another  string  broken. 
Never  mind;  I've  got  to  catch  that  train." 

"Still  after  those  bridge-timbers?" 

"Still  after  the  boards  they  have  probably  been 
sawed  into.  And  before  I  get  back  I  am  going  to 
know  what's  at  the  upper  end  of  that  old  Silver 
Switch  'Y'  spur." 

The  young  engineer  had  been  gone  less  than 
half  an  hour,  and  Lidgerwood  had  scarcely  fin 
ished  reading  his  mail,  when  McCloskey  opened 

149 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

the  door.  Like  Benson,  the  trainmaster  also  had 
the  light  of  discovery  in  his  eye. 

"More  thievery,"  he  announced  gloomily.  "This 
time  they  have  been  looting  my  department.  I 
had  ten  or  twelve  thousand  feet  of  high-priced, 
insulated  copper  wire,  and  a  dozen  or  more  tele 
phone  sets,  in  the  store-room.  Mr.  Cumberley 
had  a  notion  of  connecting  up  all  the  Angels  de 
partments  by  telephone,  and  it  got  as  far  as  the 
purchasing  of  the  material.  The  wire  and  all 
those  telephone  sets  are  gone." 

"Well  ?"  said  Lidgerwood,  evenly.  The  temp 
tation  to  take  it  out  upon  the  nearest  man  was 
still  as  strong  as  ever,  but  he  was  growing  better 
able  to  resist  it. 

"I've  done  what  I  could,"  snapped  McCloskey, 
seeming  to  know  what  was  expected  of  him,  "but 
nobody  knows  anything,  of  course.  So  far  as  I 
could  find  out,  no  one  of  my  men  has  had  occasion 
to  go  to  the  store-room  for  a  week." 

"Who  has  the  keys?" 

"I  have  one,  and  Spurlock,  the  line-chief,  has 
one.  Hallock  has  the  third." 

"Always  Hallock!"  was  the  half-impatient 
comment.  "  I  hope  you  don't  suspect  him  of  steal 
ing  your  wire." 

McCloskey  tilted  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and 
150 


Benson's  Bridge-Timbers 

looked  truculent  enough  to  fight  an  entire  cavalry 
troop. 

"That's  just  what  I  do,'*  he  gritted.  "I've 
got  him  dead  to  rights  this  time.  He  was  in  that 
store-room  day  before  yesterday,  or  rather  night  be 
fore  last.  Callahan  saw  him  coming  out  of  there." 

Lidgerwood  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  smiled. 

"I  don't  blame  you  much,  Mac;  this  thing  is 
getting  to  be  pretty  binding  upon  all  of  us.  But 
I  think  you  are  mistaken — in  your  conclusion,  I 
mean.  Hallock  has  been  making  an  inventory  of 
material  on  hand  for  the  past  week  or  more,  and 
now  that  I  think  of  it,  I  remember  having  seen 
your  wire  and  the  telephone  sets  included  in  his 
last  sheet  of  telegraph  supplies." 

"There  it  goes  again,"  said  the  trainmaster 
sourly.  "Every  time  I  get  a  half-hitch  on  that 
fellow,  something  turns  up  to  make  it  slip.  But  if 
I  had  my  way  about  twenty  minutes  I'd  go  and 
choke  him  till  he'd  tell  me  what  he  has  done  with 
that  wire." 

Lidgerwood  was  smiling  again. 

"Try  to  be  as  fair  to  him  as  you  can,"  he  ad 
vised  good-naturedly.  "I  know  you  dislike  him, 
and  probably  you  have  good  reasons.  But  have 
you  stopped  to  ask  yourself  what  possible  use  he 
could  make  of  the  stolen  material  ?" 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Again  McCloskey's  hat  went  to  the  pugnacious 
angle.  "I  don't  know  anything  any  more;  you 
couldn't  prove  it  by  me  what  day  of  the  week  it  is. 
But  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr.  Lidgerwood "- 
shaking  an  emphatic  finger—  "Flemister  has  just 
put  a  complete  system  of  wiring  and  telephones 
in  his  mine,  and  if  he  had  the  stuff  for  the  system 
shipped  in  over  our  railroad,  the  agent  at  Little 
Butte  doesn't  know  anything  about  it.  I  asked 
Goodloe,  by  grapples!" 

But  even  this  was  unconvincing  to  the  super 
intendent. 

'That  proves  nothing  against  Hallock,  Mac,  as 
you  will  see  when  you  cool  down  a  little,"  he  said. 

"I  know  it  doesn't,"  wrathfully;  "nothing 
proves  anything  any  more.  I  suppose  I've  got  to 
say  it  again:  I'm  all  in,  down  and  out."  And 
he  went  away,  growling  to  his  hat-brim. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Benson 
returned  from  the  west,  coming  in  on  a  light  en 
gine  that  was  deadheading  from  Red  Butte  to  the 
Angels  shops.  He  sought  out  Lidgerwood  at 
once,  and  flinging  himself  wearily  into  a  chair  at 
the  superintendent's  elbow,  made  his  report  of  the 
day's  doings. 

"I  have,  and  I  haven't,"  he  said,  beginning  in 
the  midst  of  things,  as  his  habit  was.  "You  were 

152 


Benson's  Bridge-Timbers 

right  about  the  track  connection  at  Silver  Switch. 
It  is  in;  Flemister  put  it  in  himself  a  month  ago 
when  he  had  a  car-load  of  coal  taken  up  to  the  back 
door  of  his  mine." 

"Did  you  go  up  over  the  spur  ?" 

"Yes;  and  I  had  my  trouble  for  my  pains. 
Before  I  go  any  further,  Lidgerwood,  I'd  like  to  ask 
you  one  question:  can  we  afford  to  quarrel  with 
Mr.  Pennington  Flemister?" 

"Benson,  we  sha'n't  hesitate  a  single  moment 
to  quarrel  with  the  biggest  mine-owner  or  freight- 
shipper  this  side  of  the  Crosswater  Hills  if  we  have 
the  right  on  our  side.  Spread  it  out.  What  did 
you  find  ? " 

Benson  sank  a  little  lower  in  his  chair.  'The 
first  thing  I  found  was  a  couple  of  armed  guards— 
a  pair  of  tough-looking  citizens  with  guns  sagging 
at  their  hips,  lounging  around  the  Wire-Silver 
back  door.  There  is  quite  a  little  nest  of  build 
ings  at  the  old  entrance  to  the  Wire-Silver,  and  a 
stockade  has  been  built  to  enclose  them.  The 
old  spur  runs  through  a  gate  in  the  stockade,  and 
the  gate  was  open;  but  the  two  toughs  wouldn't 
let  me  go  inside.  I  wrangled  with  them  first,  and 
tried  to  bribe  them  afterward,  but  it  was  no  go. 
Then  I  started  to  walk  around  the  outside  of  the 
stockade,  which  is  only  a  high  board  fence,  and 

153 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

they  objected  to  that.  Thereupon  I  told  them  to 
go  straight  to  blazes,  and  walked  away  down  the 
spur,  but  when  I  got  out  of  sight  around  the  first 
curve  I  took  to  the  timber  on  the  butte  slope  and 
climbed  to  a  point  from  which  I  could  look  over 
into  Flemister's  carefully  built  enclosure." 

"Well,  what  did  you  see?" 

"Much  or  little,  just  as  you  happen  to  look  at  it. 
There  are  half  a  dozen  buildings  in  the  yard,  and 
two  of  them  are  new  and  unpainted.  Sizing  them 
up  from  a  distance,  I  said  to  myself  that  the  lum 
ber  in  them  hadn't  been  very  long  out  of  the  mill. 
One  of  them  is  evidently  the  power-house;  it  has 
an  iron  chimney  set  in  the  roof,  and  the  power- 
plant  was  running." 

For  a  little  time  after  Benson  had  finished  his 
report  there  was  silence,  and  Lidgerwood  had 
added  many  squares  to  the  pencillings  on  his  desk 
blotter  before  he  spoke  again. 

"You  say  two  of  the  buildings  are  new;  did 
you  make  any  inquiries  about  recent  lumber 
shipments  to  the  Wire-Silver?" 

"I  did,"  said  the  young  engineer  soberly.  "So 
far  as  our  station  records  show,  Flemister  has 
had  no  material,  save  coal,  shipped  in  over 
either  the  eastern  or  the  western  spur  for  several 
months." 

J54 


Benson's  Bridge-Timbers 

"Then  you  believe  that  he  took  your  bridge- 
timbers  and  sawed  them  up  into  lumber  ?" 

"I  do — as  firmly  as  I  believe  that  the  sun  will 
rise  to-morrow.  And  that  isn't  all  of  it,  Lidger- 
wood.  He  is  the  man  who  has  your  switch-engine. 
As  I  have  said,  the  power-plant  was  running  while  I 
was  up  there  to-day.  The  power  is  a  steam- 
engine,  and  if  you'd  stand  off  and  listen  to  it  you'd 
swear  it  was  a  locomotive  pulling  a  light  train  up  an 
easy  grade.  Of  course,  I'm  only  guessing  at  that, 
but  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  the  burden 
of  proof  lies  upon  Flemister." 

Lidgerwood  was  nodding  slowly.  "Yes,  on 
Flemister  and  some  others.  Who  are  the  others, 
Benson?'* 

"I  have  no  more  guesses  coming,  and  I  am  too 
tired  to  invent  any.  Suppose  we  drop  it  until  to 
morrow.  I'm  afraid  it  means  a  fight  or  a  funeral, 
and  I  am  not  quite  equal  to  either  to-night." 

For  a  long  time  after  Benson  had  gone,  Lidger 
wood  sat  staring  out  of  his  office  window  at  the 
masthead  electrics  in  the  railroad  yard.  Benson's 
news  had  merely  confirmed  his  own  and  Mc- 
Closkey's  conclusion  that  some  one  in  authority 
was  in  collusion  with  the  thieves  who  were  raiding 
the  company.  Sooner  or  later  it  must  come  to  a 
grapple,  and  he  dreaded  it. 

155 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

It  was  deep  in  the  night  when  he  closed  his 
desk  and  went  to  the  little  room  partitioned  off 
in  the  rear  of  the  private  office  as  a  sleeping-apart 
ment.  When  he  was  preparing  to  go  to  bed,  he 
noticed  that  the  tiny  relay  on  the  stand  at  his  bed's 
head  was  silent.  Afterward,  when  he  tried  to 
adjust  the  instrument,  he  found  it  ruined  beyond 
repair.  Some  one  had  connected  its  wiring  with 
the  electric  lighting  circuit,  and  the  tiny  coils  were 
fused  and  burned  into  solid  little  cylinders  of 
copper. 


IX 


JUDSON  S    JOKE 

BARTON  RUFFORD,  ex-distiller  of  illicit 
whiskey  in  the  Tennessee  mountains,  ex- 
welsher  turned  informer  and  betraying  his  neigh 
bor  law-breakers  to  the  United  States  revenue 
officers,  ex-everything  which  made  his  continued 
stay  in  the  Cumberlands  impossible,  was  a  man  of 
distinction  in  the  Red  Desert. 

In  the  wider  field  of  the  West  he  had  been  suc 
cessively  a  claim-jumper,  a  rustler  of  unbranded 
cattle,  a  telegraph  operator  in  collusion  with  a 
gang  of  train-robbers,  and  finally  a  faro  "look 
out"  :  the  armed  guard  who  sits  at  the  head  of  the 
gaming-table  in  the  untamed  regions  to  kill  and 
kill  quickly  if  a  dispute  arises. 

Angels  acknowledged  his  citizenship  without 
joy.  A  cold-blooded  murderer,  with  an  appalling 
record;  and  a  man  with  a  temper  like  smoking 
tow,  an  itching  trigger-finger,  the  eye  of  a  duck- 
hawk,  and  cat-like  swiftness  of  movement,  he 

157 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

tyrannized  the  town  when  the  humor  was  on  him; 
and  as  yet  no  counter-bully  had  come  to  chase 
him  into  oblivion. 

For  Lidgerwood  to  have  earned  the  enmity  of 
this  man  was  considered  equivalent  to  one  of  three 
things:  the  superintendent  would  throw  up  his 
job  and  leave  the  Red  Desert,  preferably  by  the 
first  train;  or  RufFord  would  kill  him;  or  he  must 
kill  RufFord.  Red  Butte  Western  opinion  was 
somewhat  divided  as  to  which  horn  of  the  trilemma 
the  victim  of  RufFord's  displeasure  would  choose, 
all  admitting  that,  for  the  moment,  the  choice  lay 
with  the  superintendent.  Would  Lidgerwood  fight, 
or  run,  or  sit  still  and  be  slain  ?  In  the  Angels 
roundhouse,  on  the  second  morning  following  the 
attempt  upon  Lidgerwood's  life  at  the  gate  of  the 
Dawson  cottage,  the  discussion  was  spirited,  not  to 
say  acrimonious. 

"I'm  telling  you  hyenas  that  Collars-and-CufFs 
ain't  going  to  run  away/'  insisted  Williams,  who 
was  just  in  from  the  all-night  trip  to  Red  Butte 
and  return.  "He  ain't  built  that  way." 

Lester,  the  roundhouse  foreman,  himself  a  man- 
queller  of  no  mean  repute,  thought  difFerently. 
Lidgerwood  would,  most  likely,  take  to  the  high 
grass  and  the  tall  timber.  The  alternative  was 
to  "pack  a  gun"  for  RufFord — an  alternative  quite 


Judson's  Joke 

inconceivable  to  Lester  when  it  was  predicated  of 
the  superintendent. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Judson,  the 
discharged — and  consequently  momentarily  so 
bered — engineer  of  the  271.  "He's  fooled  every 
body  more  than  once  since  he  lit  down  in  the  Red 
Desert.  First  crack,  everybody  said  he  didn't 
know  his  business,  'cause  he  wore  b'iled  shirts: 
he  does  know  it.  Next,  you  could  put  your  ear  to 
the  ground  and  hear  that  he  didn't  have  the  sand  to 
round  up  the  maverick  R.  B.  W.  He's  doing  it. 
I  don't  know  but  he  might  even  run  a  bluff  on 
Bart  Rufford,  if  he  felt  like  it." 

"Come  off,  John!"  growled  the  big  foreman. 
"You  needn't  be  afraid  to  talk  straight  over  here. 
He  hit  you  when  you  was  down,  and  we  all  know 
you're  only  waitin'  for  a  chance  to  hit  back." 

Judson  was  a  red-headed  man,  effusively  good- 
natured  when  he  was  in  liquor,  and  a  quick 
tempered  fighter  of  battles  when  he  was  not. 

"Don't  you  make  any  such  mistake!"  he 
snapped.  "That's  what  McCloskey  said  when  he 
handed  me  the  'good-by.'  'You'll  be  one  more 
to  go  round  feelin'  for  Mr.  Lidgerwood's  throat, 
I  suppose/  says  he.  By  cripes!  what  I  said  to 
Mac  I'm  sayin'  to  you,  Bob  Lester.  I  know  good 
and  well  a-plenty  when  I've  earned  my  blue 

159 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

envelope.     If  I'd  been  in  the  super's  place,  the  271 
would  have  had  a  new  runner  a  long  time  ago!" 

"Oh,  hell!  /  say  he'll  chase  his  feet,"  puffed 
Broadbent,  the  fat  machinist  who  was  truing  off 
the  valve-seats  of  the  195.  "If  Rufford  doesn't 
make  him,  there's  some  others  that  will." 

Judson  flared  up  again. 

"Who  you  quotin'  now,  Fatty?  One  o'  the 
shop  'prentices  ?  Or  maybe  it's  Rank  Hallock  ? 
Say,  what's  he  doin'  monkeyin'  round  the  back 
shop  so  much  lately  ?  I'm  goin'  to  stay  round  here 
till  I  get  a  chance  to  lick  that  scrub." 

Broadbent  snorted  his  derision  of  all  mere  en- 
ginemen. 

"  You  rail-pounders  'd  better  get  next  to  Rankin 
Hallock,"  he  warned.  "He's  the  next  sup'rin- 
tendent  of  the  R.  B.  W.  You'll  see  the  'pointment 
circular  the  next  day  after  that  jim-dandy  over  in 
the  Crow's  Nest  gets  moved  ofFn  the  map." 

"Well,  I'm  some  afeared  Bart  Rufford's  likely 
to  move  him,"  drawled  Clay,  the  six-foot  Ken- 
tuckian  who  was  filing  the  195*8  brasses  at  the 
bench.  "Which  the  same  I  ain't  rejoicin'  about, 
neither.  That  little  cuss  is  shore  a  mighty  good 
railroad  man.  And  when  you  ain't  rubbin'  his  fur 
the  wrong  way,  he  treats  you  white." 

"For  instance?"    snapped   Hodges,    a    freight 
1 60 


Judson's  Joke 

engineer  who  had  been  thrice  "on  the  carpet"  in 
Lidgerwood's  office  for  over-running  his  orders. 

"Oh,  they  ain't  so  blame'  hard  to  find,"  Clay 
retorted.  "Last  week,  when  we  was  out  on  the 
Navajo  wreck,  me  and  the  boy  didn't  have  no 
dinner-buckets.  Bradford  was  runnin'  the  su 
per's  car,  and  when  Andy  just  sort  o'  happened 
to  mention  the  famine  up  along,  the  little  man 
made  that  Jap  cook  o'  his'n  get  us  up  a  dinner 
that'd  made  your  hair  frizzle.  He  shore  did." 

"Why  don't  you  go  and  take  up  for  him  with 
Bart  Rufford?"  sneered  Broadbent,  stopping  his 
facing  machine  to  set  in  a  new  cut  on  the  valve- 
seat. 

"Not  me.  I've  got  cold  feet,"  laughed  the  Ken- 
tuckian.  "I'm  like  the  little  kid's  daddy  in  the 
Sunday-school  song:  I  ain't  got  time  to  die  yet- 
got  too  much  to  do." 

It  was  Williams's  innings,  and  what  he  said  was 
cautionary. 

"Dry  up,  you  fellows;  here  comes  Gridley." 

The  master-mechanic  was  walking  down  the 
planked  track  from  the  back  shop,  carrying  his 
years,  which  showed  only  in  the  graying  mustache 
and  chin  beard,  and  his  hundred  and  eighty  pounds 
of  well-set-up  bone  and  muscle,  jauntily.  Now, 
as  always,  he  was  the  beau  ideal  of  the  industrial 

161 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

field-officer;  handsome  in  a  clean-cut  masculine 
way,  a  type  of  vigor — but  also,  if  the  signs  of  the 
full  face  and  the  eager  eyes  were  to  be  regarded,  of 
the  elemental  passions. 

Angelic  rumor  hinted  that  he  was  a  periodic 
drunkard:  he  was  both  more  and  less  than  that. 
Like  many  another  man,  Henry  Gridley  lived  a 
double  life;  or,  perhaps  it  would  be  nearer  the 
truth  to  say  that  there  were  two  Henry  Gridleys. 
Lidgerwood,  the  Dawsons,  the  little  world  of 
Angels  at  large,  knew  the  virile,  accomplished 
mechanical  engineer  and  master  of  men,  which 
was  his  normal  personality.  What  time  the  other 
personality,  the  elemental  barbarian,  yawned, 
stretched  itself,  and  came  awake,  the  unspeak 
able  dens  of  the  Copah  lower  quarter  engulfed 
him  until  the  nether-man  had  gorged  himself  on 
degradation. 

To  his  men,  Gridley  was  a  tyrant,  exacting,  but 
just;  ruling  them,  as  the  men  of  the  desert  could 
only  be  ruled,  with  the  mailed  fist.  Yet  there  was 
a  human  hand  inside  of  the  steel  gauntlet,  as  all 
men  knew.  Having  once  beaten  a  bullying  gang- 
boss  into  the  hospital  at  Denver,  he  had  promptly 
charged  himself  with  the  support  of  the  man's 
family.  Other  generous  roughnesses  were  re 
corded  of  him,  and  if  the  attitude  of  the  men  was 

162 


Judson's  Joke 

somewhat  tempered  by  wholesome  fear,  it  was 
none  the  less  loyal. 

Hence,  when  he  entered  the  roundhouse,  in 
dustrious  silence  supplanted  the  discussion  of  the 
superintendent's  case.  Glancing  at  the  group  of 
enginemen,  and  snapping  out  a  curt  criticism  of 
Broadbent's  slowness  on  the  valve-seats,  he  beck 
oned  to  Judson.  When  the  discharged  engineer 
had  followed  him  across  the  turn-table,  he  faced 
about  and  said,  not  too  crisply,  "So  your  sins  have 
found  you  out  one  more  time,  have  they,  John  ?" 

Judson  nodded. 

"What  is  it  this  time,  thirty  days  ?" 

Judson  shook  his  head  gloomily.  "No,  I'm 
down  and  out." 

"Lidgerwood  made  it  final,  did  he?  Well,  you 
can't  blame  him." 

uYou  hain't  heard  me  sayin'  anything,  have 
you  ?"  was  the  surly  rejoinder. 

"No,  but  it  isn't  in  human  nature  to  forget  these 
little  things."  Then,  suddenly:  "Where  were 
you  day  before  yesterday  between  noon  and  one 
o'clock — about  the  time  you  should  have  been 
taking  your  train  out  ?" 

Judson  had  a  needle-like  mind  when  the  alcohol 
was  out  of  it,  and  the  sudden  query  made  him  dis 
semble. 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"About  ten  o'clock  I  was  playin'  pool  in  Raf- 
ferty's  place  with  the  butt  end  of  the  cue.  After 
that,  things  got  kind  o'  hazy. " 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  buckle  down  and  think 
hard.  Don't  you  remember  going  over  to  Cat 
Biggs's  about  noon,  and  sitting  down  at  one  of 
the  empty  card-tables  to  drink  yourself  stiff?" 

Judson  could  not  have  told,  under  the  thumb 
screws,  why  he  was  prompted  to  tell  Gridley  a 
plain  lie.  But  he  did  it. 

"I  can't  remember,"  he  denied.  Then  the 
needle-pointed  brain  got  in  its  word,  and  he  added, 
"Why?" 

"I  saw  you  there  when  I  was  going  up  to  dinner. 
You  called  me  in  to  tell  me  what  you  were  going  to 
do  to  Lidgerwood  if  he  slated  you  for  getting  drunk. 
Don't  you  remember  it  ?" 

Judson  was  looking  the  master-mechanic  fairly 
in  the  eyes  when  he  said,  "No,  I  don't  remember 
a  thing  about  that." 

"Try  again,"  said  Gridley,  and  now  the  shrewd 
gray  eyes  under  the  brim  of  the  soft-rolled  felt  hat 
held  the  engineer  helpless. 

"I  guess — I  do — remember  it — now,"  said 
Judson,  slowly,  trying,  still  ineffectually,  to  break 
Gridley's  masterful  eyehold  upon  him. 

"I  thought  you  would,"  said  the  master-me- 
164 


Judson's  Joke 

chanic,  without  releasing  him.  "And  you  prob 
ably  remember,  also,  that  I  took  you  out  into  the 
street  and  started  you  home." 

"Yes,"  said  Judson,  this  time  without  hesitation. 

"Well,  keep  on  remembering  it;  you  went  home 
to  Maggie,  and  she  put  you  to  bed.  That  is  what 
you  are  to  keep  in  mind." 

Judson  had  broken  the  curious  eye-grip  at  last, 
and  again  he  said,  "Why?" 

Gridley  hooked  his  finger  absently  in  the  en 
gineer's  buttonhole. 

"  Because,  if  you  don't,  a  man  named  Rufford 
says  he'll  start  a  lead  mine  in  you.  I  heard  him 
say  it  last  night — overheard  him,  I  should  say. 
That's  all." 

The  master-mechanic  passed  on,  going  out  by 
the  great  door  which  opened  for  the  locomotive 
entering-track.  Judson  hung  upon  his  heel  for 
a  moment,  and  then  went  slowly  out  through  the 
tool-room  and  across  the  yard  tracks  to  the  Crow's 
Nest. 

He  found  McCloskey  in  his  office  above  stairs, 
mouthing  and  grimacing  over  the  string-board 
of  the  new  time-table. 

"Well?"  growled  the  trainmaster,  when  he 
saw  who  had  opened  and  closed  the  door.  "Come 
back  to  tell  me  you've  sworn  off?  That  won't 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

go  down  with  Mr.  Lidgerwood.     When  he  fires,  he 
means  it." 

'*  You  wait  till  I  ask  you  for  my  job  back  again, 
won't  you,  Jim  McCloskey  ?"  said  the  disgraced 
one  hotly.  "I  hain't  asked  it  yet;  and  what's 
more,  I'm  sober." 

"Sure  you  are,"  muttered  McCloskey.  "You'd 
be  better-natured  with  a  drink  or  two  in  you. 
What's  doing?" 

'That's  what  I  came  over  here  to  find  out," 
said  Judson  steadily.  "What  is  the  boss  going  to 
do  about  this  flare-up  with  Bart  Rufford  ?" 

The  trainmaster  shrugged. 

"  You've  got  just  as  many  guesses  as  anybody, 
John.  What  you  can  bet  on  is  that  he  will  do 
something  different." 

Judson  had  slouched  to  the  window.  When  he 
spoke,  it  was  without  turning  his  head. 

'  You  said  something  yesterday  morning  about 
me  feeling  for  the  boss's  throat  along  with  that 
gang  up-town  that's  trying  to  drink  itself  up  to  the 
point  of  hitting  him  back.  It  don't  strike  me 
that  way,  Mac. " 

"How  does  it  strike  you  ?" 

Judson  turned  slowly,  crossed  the  room,  and  sat 
down  in  the  only  vacant  chair. 

"You  know  what's  due  to  happen,  Mac.     Ruf- 
166 


Judson's  Joke 

ford  won't  try  it  on  again  the  way  he  tried  it  night 
before  last.  I  heard  up-town  that  he  has  posted 
his  de-fi:  Mr.  Lidgerwood  shoots  him  on  sight 
or  he  shoots  Mr.  Lidgerwood  on  sight.  You  can 
figure  that  out,  can't  you  ?" 

"Not  knowing  Mr.  Lidgerwood  much  better 
than  you  do,  John,  I'm  not  sure  that  I  can." 

"Well,  it's  easy.  Bart'll  walk  up  to  the  boss  in 
broad  daylight,  drop  him,  and  then  fill  him  full  o' 
lead  after  he's  down.  I've  seen  him — saw  him  do 
it  to  Bixby,  Mr.  Brewster's  foreman  at  the  Cop- 
perette." 

"Say  the  rest  of  it,"  commanded  McCloskey. 

"I've  been  thinking.  While  I'm  laying  round 
with  nothing  much  to  do,  I  believe  I'll  keep  tab 
on  Bart  for  a  little  spell.  I  don't  love  him  much, 
nohow." 

McCloskey's  face  contortion  was  intended  to 
figure  as  a  derisive  smile.  "Pshaw,  John!"  he 
commented,  "he'd  skin  you  alive.  Why,  even 
Jack  Hepburn  is  afraid  of  him!" 

''  Jack  is  ?     How  do  you  know  that  ?" 

McCloskey  shrugged  again. 

"Are  you  with  us,  John  ?"   he  asked  cautiously. 

"I  ain't  with  Bart  Rufford  and  the  tin-horns," 
said  Judson  negatively. 

'Then  I'll  tell  you  a  fairy  tale,"  said  the  train- 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

master,  lowering  his  voice.  "I  gave  you  notice 
that  Mr.  Lidgerwood  would  do  something  dif 
ferent:  he  did  it,  bright  and  early  this  morning; 
went  to  Jake  Schleisinger,  who  had  to  try  twice 
before  he  could  remember  that  he  was  a  justice  of 
the  peace,  and  swore  out  a  warrant  for  Rufford's 
arrest,  on  a  charge  of  assault  with  intent  to  kill." 

"Sure,"  said  Judson,  "that's  what  any  man 
would  do  in  a  civilized  country,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  not  here,  John — not  in  the  red-col 
ored  desert,  with  Bart  Rufford's  name  in  the  body 
of  the  warrant." 

"I  don't  know  why  not,"  insisted  the  engineer 
stubbornly.  "But  go  on  with  the  story;  it  ain't 
any  fairy  tale,  so  far." 

"When  he'd  got  the  warrant,  Schleisinger  pro 
testing  all  the  while  that  Bart  'd  kill  him  for  issu 
ing  it,  Mr.  Lidgerwood  took  it  to  Hepburn  and 
told  him  to  serve  it.  Jack  backed  down  so  fast 
that  he  fell  over  his  feet.  Said  to  ask  him  anything 
else  under  God's  heavens  and  he'd  do  it — any 
thing  but  that." 

"Huh!"  said  Judson.  "If  I'd  took  an  oath  to 
serve  warrants  I'd  serve  'em,  if  it  did  make  me 
sick  at  my  stomach."  Then  he  got  up  and  shuf 
fled  away  to  the  window  again,  and  when  next  he 
spoke  his  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  broken  man. 

168 


Judson's  Joke 

"I  lied  to  you  a  minute  ago,  Mac.  I  did  want 
my  job  back.  I  came  over  here  hopin'  that  you 
and  Mr.  Lidgerwood  might  be  seein'  things  a  little 
different  by  this  time.  I've  quit  the  whiskey." 

McCloskey  wagged  his  shaggy  head. 

"So  you've  said  before,  John,  and  not  once 
or  twice  either." 

"I  know,  but  every  man  gets  to  the  bottom, 
some  time.  I've  hit  bed-rock,  and  I've  just  barely 
got  sense  enough  to  know  it.  Let  me  tell  you, 
Mac,  I've  pulled  trains  on  mighty  near  every  rail 
road  in  this  country — and  then  some.  The  Red 
Butte  is  my  last  ditch.  With  my  record  I  couldn't 
get  an  engine  anywhere  else  in  the  United  States. 
Can't  you  see  what  I'm  up  against?" 

The  trainmaster  nodded.     He  was  human. 

"Well,  it's  Maggie  and  the  babies  now,"  Judson 
went  on.  "They  don't  starve,  Mac,  not  while 
I'm  on  top  of  earth.  Don't  you  reckon  you  could 
make  some  sort  of  a  play  for  me  with  the  boss, 
Jim  ?  He's  got  bowels." 

McCloskey  did  not  resent  the  familiarity  of  the 
Christian  name,  neither  did  he  hold  out  any  hope 
of  reinstatement. 

"No,  John.  One  or  two  things  I've  learned 
about  Mr.  Lidgerwood:  he  doesn't  often  hit  when 
he's  mad,  and  he  doesn't  take  back  anything  he 

169 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

says   in    cold    blood.     I'm   afraid   you've   cooked 
your  last  goose." 

"Let  me  go  in  and  see  him.  He  ain't  half  as 
hard-hearted  as  you  are,  Jim." 

The  trainmaster  shook  his  head.  "No,  it 
won't  do  any  good.  I  heard  him  tell  Hallock  not 
to  let  anybody  in  on  him  this  morning." 

"Hallock  be—  Say,  Mac,  what  makes  him 
keep  that—  "  Judson  broke  off  abruptly,  pulled  his 
hat  over  his  eyes,  and  said,  "Reckon  it's  worth 
while  to  shove  me  over  to  the  other  side,  Jim 
McCloskey?" 

"What  other  side?"    demanded  McCloskey. 

Judson  scoffed  openly.  "You  ain't  making 
out  like  you  don't  know,  are  you  ?  Who  was 
behind  that  break  of  Rufford's  last  night?" 

'There  didn't  need  to  be  anybody  behind  it. 
Bart  thinks  he  has  a  kick  coming  because  his 
brother  was  discharged." 

"But  there  was  somebody  behind  it.  Tell  me, 
Mac,  did  you  ever  see  me  too  drunk  to  read  my 
orders  and  take  my  signals?" 

"No,  don't  know  as  I  have." 

"Well,  I  never  was.  And  I  don't  often  get  too 
drunk  to  hear  straight,  either,  even  if  I  do  look 
and  act  like  the  biggest  fool  God  ever  let  live.  I 
was  in  Cat  Biggs's  day  before  yesterday  noon, 

170 


Judson's  Joke 

when  I  ought  to  have  been  down  here  taking  202 
east.  There  were  two  men  in  the  back  room 
putting  their  heads  together.  I  don't  know 
whether  they  knew  I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
partition  or  not.  If  they  did,  they  probably  didn't 
pay  any  attention  to  a  drivellin'  idiot  that  couldn't 
wrap  his  tongue  around  an  order  for  more 
whiskey." 

"Go  on!"  snapped  McCloskey,  almost  vi 
ciously. 

"They  were  talking  about  'fixing'  the  boss. 
One  of 'em  was  for  the  slow  and  safe  way:  small 
bets  and  a  good  many  of  'em.  The  other  was  for 
pulling  a  straight  flush  on  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  right 
now.  Number  One  said  no,  that  things  were  mov 
ing  along  all  right,  and  it  wasn't  worth  while  to 
rush.  Then  something  was  said  about  a  woman; 
I  didn't  catch  her  name  or  just  what  the  hurry  man 
said  about  her,  only  it  was  something  about  Mr. 
Lidgerwood's  bein'  in  shape  to  mix  up  in  it.  At 
that  Number  One  flopped  over.  '  Pull  it  off  when 
ever  you  like!'  says  he,  savage-like." 

McCloskey  sprang  from  his  chair  and  towered 
over  the  smaller  man. 

"One  of  those  men  was  Bart  RufFord:  who  was 
the  other  one,  Judson  ?" 

Judson    was     apparently    unmoved.     "  You're 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

forgettin'  that  I  was  plum'  fool  drunk,  Jim.  I 
didn't  see  either  one  of  'em." 

"But  you  heard?" 

'*  Yes,  one  of  'em  was  RufFord,  as  you  say,  and 
up  to  a  little  bit  ago  I'd  'a'  been  ready  to  swear  to 
the  voice  of  the  one  you  haven't  guessed.  But 
now  I  can't." 

"Why  can't  you  do  it  now  ?" 

"Sit  down  and  I'll  tell  you.  I've  been  jarred. 
Everything  I've  told  you  so  far,  I  can  remember,  or 
it  seems  as  if  I  can,  but  right  where  I  broke  off  a 
cog  slipped.  I  must  'a'  been  drunker  than  I 
thought  I  was.  Gridley  says  he  was  going  by  and 
he  says  I  called  him  in  and  told  him,  fool-wise,  all 
the  things  I  was  going  to  do  to  Mr.  Lidgerwood. 
He  says  he  hushed  me  up,  called  me  out  to  the  side 
walk,  and  started  me  home.  Mac,  I  don't  re 
member  a  single  wheel-turn  of  all  that,  and  it 
makes  me  scary  about  the  other  part." 

McCloskey  relapsed  into  his  swing-chair. 

'l  You  said  you  thought  you  recognized  the  other 
man  by  his  voice.  It  sounds  like  a  drunken  pipe- 
dream,  the  whole  of  it;  but  who  did  you  think  it 
was?" 

Judson  rose  up,  jerked  his  thumb  toward  the 
door  of  the  superintendent's  business  office,  and 
said,  "Mac,  if  the  whiskey  didn't  fake  the  whole 

172 


Judson's  Joke 

business  for  me — the  man  who  was  mumblin' 
with  Bart  Rufford  was— Hallock!" 

"Hallock?"  said  McCloskey;  "and  you  said 
there  was  a  woman  in  it  ?  That  fits  down  to  the 
ground,  John.  Mr.  Lidgerwood  has  found  out 
something  about  Hallock's  family  tear-up,  or  he's 
likely  to  find  out.  That's  what  that  means!" 

What  more  McCloskey  said  was  said  to  an 
otherwise  empty  room.  Judson  had  opened  the 
door  and  closed  it,  and  was  gone. 

Summing  up  the  astounding  thing  afterward, 
those  who  could  recall  the  details  and  piece  them 
together  traced  Judson  thus: 

It  was  ten-forty  when  he  came  down  from  Mc 
Closkey' s  office,  and  for  perhaps  twenty  minutes 
he  had  been  seen  lounging  at  the  lunch-counter  in 
the  station  end  of  the  Crow's  Nest.  At  about 
eleven  one  witness  had  seen  him  striking  at  the 
anvil  in  Hepburn's  shop,  the  town  marshal  being 
the  town  blacksmith  in  the  intervals  of  official 
duty. 

Still  later,  he  had  apparently  forgotten  the  good 
resolution  declared  to  McCloskey,  and  all  Angels 
saw  him  staggering  up  and  down  Mesa  Avenue, 
stumbling  into  and  out  of  the  many  saloons,  and 
growing,  to  all  appearances,  more  hopelessly  irre 
sponsible  with  every  fresh  stumble.  This  was  his 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

condition  when  he  tripped  over  the  doorstep  into 
the  "Arcade,"  and  fell  full  length  on  the  floor  of 
the  bar-room.  Grimsby,  the  barkeeper,  picked 
him  up  and  tried  to  send  him  home,  but  with  good- 
natured  and  maudlin  pertinacity  he  insisted  on 
going  on  to  the  gambling-room  in  the  rear. 

The  room  was  darkened,  as  befitted  its  use,  and 
a  lighted  lamp  hung  over  the  centre  of  the  oval 
faro  table  as  if  the  time  were  midnight  instead  of 
midday.  Eight  men,  five  of  them  miners  from  the 
Brewster  copper  mine,  and  three  of  them  dis 
charged  employees  of  the  Red  Butte  Western,  were 
the  bettors;  Red-Light  himself,  in  sombrero  and 
shirt-sleeves,  was  dealing,  and  Rufford,  sitting  on 
a  stool  at  the  table's  end,  was  the  "lookout." 

When  Judson  reeled  in  there  was  a  pause,  and  a 
movement  to  put  him  out.  One  of  the  miners 
covered  his  table  stakes  and  rose  to  obey  Ruf- 
ford's  nod.  But  at  this  conjuncture  the  railroad 
men  interfered.  Judson  was  a  fellow  craftsman, 
and  everybody  knew  that  he  was  harmless  in  his 
cups.  Let  him  stay — and  play,  if  he  wanted  to. 
So  Judson  stayed,  and  stumbled  round  the  table, 
losing  his  money  and  dribbling  foolishness.  Now 
faro  is  a  silent  game,  and  more  than  once  an 
angry  voice  commanded  the  foolish  one  to  choose 
his  place  and  to  shut  his  mouth.  But  the  ex- 


Judson's  Joke 

engineer  seemed  quite  incapable  of  doing  either. 
Twice  he  made  the  wavering  circuit  of  the  oval 
table,  and  when  he  finally  gripped  an  empty  chair 
it  was  the  one  nearest  to  Rufford  on  the  right,  and 
diagonally  opposite  to  the  dealer. 

What  followed  seemed  to  have  no  connecting 
sequence  for  the  other  players.  Too  restless  to 
lose  more  than  one  bet  in  the  place  he  had  chosen, 
Judson  tried  to  rise,  tangled  his  feet  in  the  chair, 
and  fell  down,  laughing  uproariously.  When  he 
struggled  to  the  perpendicular  again,  after  two  or 
three  ineffectual  attempts,  he  was  fairly  behind 
Rufford's  stool. 

One  man,  who  chanced  to  be  looking,  saw  the 
"lookout"  start  and  stiffen  rigidly  in  his  place, 
staring  straight  ahead  into  vacancy.  A  moment 
later  the  entire  circle  of  witnesses  saw  him  take  a 
revolver  from  the  holster  on  his  hip  and  lay  it 
upon  the  table,  with  another  from  the  breast  pocket 
of  his  coat  to  keep  it  company.  Then  his  hands 
went  quickly  behind  him,  and  they  all  heard  the 
click  of  the  handcuffs. 

The  man  in  the  sombrero  and  shirt-sleeves  was 
first  to  come  alive. 

"Duck,  Bart!"  he  shouted,  whipping  a  weapon 
from  its  convenient  shelf  under  the  table's  edge. 
But  Judson,  trained  to  the  swift  handling  of  many 

175 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

mechanisms  in  the  moment  of  respite   before  a 
wreck  or  a  derailment,  was  ready  for  him. 

"  Bart's  afraid  he  can't  duck  without  dying,"  he 
said  grimly,  screening  himself  behind  his  captive. 
Then  to  the  others,  in  the  same  unhasting  tone: 
"Some  of  you  fellows  just  quiet  Sammy  down  till 
I  get  out  of  here  with  this  peach  of  mine.  I've  got 
the  papers,  and  I  know  what  I'm  doin';  if  this  thing 
I'm  holdin'  against  Bart's  back  should  happen  to 
gooff- 

That  ended  it,  so  far  as  resistance  was  con 
cerned.  Judson  backed  quickly  out  through  the 
bar-room,  drawing  his  prisoner  backward  after 
him;  and  a  moment  later  Angels  was  properly 
electrified  by  the  sight  of  Rufford,  the  Red  Desert 
terror,  marching  sullenly  down  to  the  Crow's  Nest, 
with  a  fiery-headed  little  man  at  his  elbow,  the 
little  man  swinging  the  weapon  which  had  been 
made  to  simulate  the  cold  muzzle  of  the  revolver 
when  he  had  pressed  it  into  Rufford's  back  at  the 
gaming-table. 

It  was  nothing  more  formidable  than  a  short, 
thick  "S  "-wrench,  of  the  kind  used  by  locomotive 
engineers  in  tightening  the  nuts  of  the  piston-rod 
packing  glands. 


Bart's  afraid  he  can't  duck  without  dying." 


X 

FLEMISTER   AND    OTHERS 

THE  jocosely  spectacular  arrest  of  Barton 
Rufford,  with  its  appeal  to  the  grim  humor  of 
the  desert,  was  responsible  for  a  brief  lull  in  the 
storm  of  antagonism  evoked  by  Lidgerwood's  at 
tempt  to  bring  order  out  of  the  chaos  reigning  in 
his  small  kingdom.  For  a  time  Angels  was  a-grin 
again,  and  while  the  plaudits  were  chiefly  for  Jud- 
son,  the  figure  of  the  correctly  clothed  superin 
tendent  who  was  courageous  enough  to  appeal  to 
the  law,  loomed  large  in  the  reflected  light  of  the 
red-headed  engineer's  cool  daring. 

For  the  space  of  a  week  there  were  no  serious  dis 
asters,  and  Lidgerwood,  with  good  help  from  Mc- 
Closkey  and  Benson,  continued  to  dig  persistently 
into  the  mystery  of  the  wholesale  robberies.  With 
Benson's  discoveries  for  a  starting-point,  the  man 
Flemister  was  kept  under  surveillance,  and  it  soon 
became  evident  to  the  three  investigators  that  the 
owner  of  the  Wire-Silver  mine  had  been  profiting 
liberally  at  the  expense  of  the  railroad  company 

177 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

in  many  ways.  That  there  had  been  connivance 
on  the  part  of  some  one  in  authority  in  the  railroad 
service,  was  also  a  fact  safely  assumable;  and  each 
added  thread  of  evidence  seemed  more  and  more 
to  entangle  the  chief  clerk. 

But  behind  the  mystery  of  the  robberies,  Lidg- 
erwood  began  to  get  glimpses  of  a  deeper  mystery 
involving  Flemister  and  Hallock.  Angelic  tra 
dition,  never  very  clearly  defined  and  always  shot 
through  with  prejudice,  spoke  freely  of  a  former 
friendship  between  the  two  men.  Whether  the 
friendship  had  been  broken,  or  whether,  for  rea 
sons  best  known  to  themselves,  they  had  allowed 
the  impression  to  go  out  that  it  had  been  broken, 
Lidgerwood  could  not  determine  from  the  bits  of 
gossip  brought  in  by  the  trainmaster.  But  one 
thing  was  certain:  of  all  the  minor  officials  in  the 
railway  service,  Hallock  was  the  one  who  was 
best  able  to  forward  and  to  conceal  Flemister' s 
thieveries. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  these  subterranean  inves 
tigations  that  Lidgerwood  had  a  call  from  the 
owner  of  the  Wire-Silver.  On  the  Saturday  in 
the  week  of  surcease,  Flemister  came  in  on  the 
noon  train  from  the  west,  and  it  was  McCloskey 
who  ushered  him  into  the  superintendent's  office. 
Lidgerwood  looked  up  and  saw  a  small  man  wear- 


Flemister  and  Others 

ing  the  khaki  of  the  engineers,  with  a  soft  felt  hat 
to  match.  The  snapping  black  eyes,  with  the 
straight  brows  almost  meeting  over  the  nose,  sug 
gested  Goethe's  Mephistopheles,  and  Flemister 
shaved  to  fit  the  part,  with  curling  mustaches  and 
a  dagger-pointed  imperial.  Instantly  Lidgerwrood 
began  turning  the  memory  pages  in  an  effort  to 
recall  where  he  had  seen  the  man  before,  but  it  was 
not  until  Flemister  began  to  speak  that  he  remem 
bered  his  first  day  in  authority,  the  wreck  at  Gloria 
Siding,  and  the  man  who  had  driven  up  in  a  buck- 
board  to  hold  converse  with  the  master-mechanic. 
"I've  been  trying  to  find  time  for  a  month  or 
more  to  come  up  and  get  acquainted  with  you,  Mr. 
Lidgerwood,"  the  visitor  began,  when  Lidgerwood 
had  waved  him  to  a  chair.  "I  hope  you  are  not 
going  to  hold  it  against  me  that  I  haven't  done  it 


sooner." 


Lidgerwood's  smile  was  meant  to  be  no  more 
than  decently  hospitable. 

"We  are  not  standing  much  upon  ceremony  in 
these  days  of  reorganization,"  he  said.  Then,  to 
hold  the  interview  down  firmly  to  a  business  basis: 
"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Flemister  ?" 

"Nothing — nothing  on  top  of  earth;  it's  the 
other  way  round.  I  came  to  do  something  for  you 
-,  rather,  for  one  of  your  subordinates.  Hal- 
179 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

lock  tells  me  that  the  ghost  of  the  old  Mesa  Build 
ing  and  Loan  Association  still  refuses  to  be  laid, 
and  he  intimates  that  some  of  the  survivors  are 
trying  to  make  it  unpleasant  for  him  by  accusing 
him  to  you." 

'Yes,"  said  Lidgerwood,  studying  his  man 
shrewdly  by  the  road  of  the  eye,  and  without  prej 
udice  to  the  listening  ear. 

"As  I  understand  it,  the  complaint  of  the  sur 
vivors  is  based  upon  the  fact  that  they  think  they 
ought  to  have  had  a  cash  dividend  forthcoming  on 
the  closing  up  of  the  association's  affairs,"  Flemister 
went  on;  and  Lidgerwood  again  said,  "Yes." 

"As  Hallock  has  probably  told  you,  I  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  the  president  of  the  company. 
Perhaps  it's  only  fair  to  say  that  it  was  a  losing 
venture  from  the  first  for  those  of  us  who  put  the 
loaning  capital  into  it.  As  you  probably  know, 
the  money  in  these  mutual  benefit  companies  is 
made  on  lapses,  but  when  the  lapses  come  all  in  a 
bunch- 

"I  am  not  particularly  interested  in  the  general 
subject,  Mr.  Flemister,"  Lidgerwood  cut  in.  "As 
the  matter  has  been  presented  to  me,  I  understand 
there  was  a  cash  balance  shown  on  the  books,  and 
that  there  was  no  cash  in  the  treasury  to  make  it 
good.  Since  Hallock  was  the  treasurer,  I  can 

1 80 


Flemister  and  Others 

scarcely  do  less  than  I  have  done.  I  am  merely 
asking  him — and  you — to  make  some  sort  of  an 
explanation  which  will  satisfy  the  losers." 

'There  is  only  one  explanation  to  be  made/' 
said  the  ex-building-and-loan  president,  brazenly. 
"  A  few  of  us  who  were  the  officers  of  the  company 
were  the  heaviest  losers,  and  we  felt  that  we  were 
entitled  to  the  scraps  and  leavings." 

"In  other  words,  you  looted  the  treasury  among 
you,"  said  Lidgerwood  coldly.  "Is  that  it,  Mr. 
Flemister  ?" 

The  mine-owner  laughed  easily.  "  I'm  not  going 
to  quarrel  with  you  over  the  word,"  he  returned. 
"Possibly  the  proceeding  was  a  little  informal,  if 
you  measure  it  by  some  of  the  more  highly  civilized 
standards." 

"I  don't  care  to  go  into  that,"  was  Lidgerwood's 
comment, "but  I  cannot  evade  my  responsibility  for 
the  one  member  of  your  official  staff  who  is  still  on 
my  pay-roll.  How  far  was  Hallock  implicated?" 

"He  was  not  implicated  at  all,  save  in  a  clerical 
way." 

uYou  mean  that  he  did  not  share  in  the  distri 
bution  of  the  money?" 

"He  did  not." 

:'Then  it  is  only  fair  that  you  should  set  him 
straight  with  the  others,  Mr.  Flemister. " 

181 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

The  ex-president  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  took 
time  to  roll  a  cigarette  leisurely,  to  light  it,  and  to 
take  one  or  two  deep  inhalations,  before  he  said: 
"It's  a  rather  disagreeable  thing  to  do,  this  digging 
into  old  graveyards,  don't  you  think  ?  I  can  un 
derstand  why  you  should  wish  to  be  assured  of 
Hallock's  non-complicity,  and  I  have  assured  you 
of  that;  but  as  for  these  kickers,  really  I  don't 
know  what  you  can  do  with  them  unless  you  send 
them  to  me.  And  if  you  do  that,  I  am  afraid  some 
of  them  may  come  back  on  hospital  stretchers.  I 
haven't  any  time  to  fool  with  them  at  this  late 
day." 

Lidgenvood  felt  his  gorge  rising,  and  a  great  con 
tempt  for  Flemister  was  mingled  with  a  manful 
desire  to  pitch  him  out  into  the  corridor.  It  was  a 
concession  to  his  unexplainable  pity  for  Hallock 
that  made  him  temporize. 

"As  I  said  before,  you-  needn't  go  into  the  ethics 
of  the  matter  with  me,  Mr.  Flemister,"  he  said. 
"But  in  justice  to  Hallock,  I  think  you  ought  to 
make  a  statement  of  some  kind  that  I  can  show  to 
these  men  who,  very  naturally,  look  to  me  for  re 
dress.  Will  you  do  that?" 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  returned  the  mine-owner 
shortly;  but  Lidgerwood  was  not  to  be  put  off  so 
easily. 

182 


Flemister  and  Others 

"You  must  think  of  it  to  some  good  purpose," 
he  insisted.  "If  you  don't,  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
put  my  own  construction  upon  your  failure  to  do  so, 
and  to  act  accordingly/' 

Flemister's  smile  showed  his  teeth. 

"  You' re  not  threatening  me,  are  you,  Mr. 
Lidgerwood  ? " 

"Oh,  no;  there  is  no  occasion  for  threats.  But 
if  you  don't  make  me  that  statement,  fully  ex 
onerating  Hallock,  I  shall  feel  at  liberty  to  make 
one  of  my  own,  embodying  what  you  have  just  told 
me.  And  if  I  am  compelled  to  do  this,  you  must 
not  blame  me  if  I  am  not  able  to  place  the  matter 
in  the  most  favorable  light  for  you." 

This  time  the  visitor's  smile  was  a  mere  baring 
of  the  teeth. 

"Is  it  worth  your  while  to  make  it  a  personal 
quarrel  with  me,  Mr.  Lidgerwood?"  he  asked, 
with  a  thinly  veiled  menace  in  his  tone. 

"I  am  not  looking  for  quarrelsome  occasions 
with  you  or  with  any  one,"  was  the  placable  re 
joinder.  "And  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  force 
me  to  show  you  up.  Is  there  anything  else  ?  If 
not,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse 
me.  This  is  one  of  my  many  busy  days." 

After  Flemister  had  gone,  Lidgerwood  was 
almost  sorry  that  he  had  not  struck  at  once  into  the 

183 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

matter  of  the  thieveries.  But  as  yet  he  had  no 
proof  upon  which  to  base  an  open  accusation. 
One  thing  he  did  do,  however,  and  that  was  to  sum 
mon  McCloskey  and  give  instructions  pointing  to 
a  bit  of  experimental  observation  with  the  mine- 
owner  as  the  subject. 

"He  can't  get  away  from  here  before  the  evening 
train,  and  I  should  like  to  know  where  he  goes  and 
what  he  does  with  himself,"  was  the  form  the  in 
structions  took.  "When  we  find  out  who  his  ac 
complices  are,  I  shall  have  something  more  to  say 
to  him." 

"I'll  have  him  tagged,"  promised  the  train 
master;  and  a  few  minutes  later,  when  the  Wire- 
Silver  visitor  sauntered  up  Mesa  Avenue  in  quest 
of  diversion  wherewith  to  fill  the  hours  of  waiting 
for  his  train,  a  small  man,  red-haired,  and  with  a 
mechanic's  cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  kept 
even  step  with  him  from  dive  to  dive. 

Judson's  report,  made  to  the  trainmaster  that 
evening  after  the  westbound  train  had  left,  was 
short  and  concise. 

"He  went  up  and  sat  in  Sammy's  game  and 
didn't  come  out  until  it  was  time  to  make  a  break 
for  his  train.  I  didn't  see  him  talking  to  anybody 
after  he  left  here."  This  was  the  wording  of  the 
report. 

184 


Flemister  and  Others 

"You  are  sure  of  that,  are  you,  John  ?"  ques 
tioned  McCloskey. 

Judson  hung  his  head.  "Maybe  I  ain't  as  sure 
as  I  ought  to  be.  I  saw  him  go  into  Sammy's, 
and  saw  him  come  out  again,  and  I  know  he  didn't 
stay  in  the  bar-room.  I  didn't  go  in  where  they 
keep  the  tiger.  Sammy  don't  love  me  any  more 
since  I  held  Bart  Rufford  up  with  an  S-wrench, 
and  I  was  afraid  I  might  disturb  the  game  if  I  went 
buttin'  in  to  make  sure  that  Flemister  was  there. 
But  I  guess  there  ain't  no  doubt  about  it." 

Thus  Judson,  who  was  still  sober,  and  who 
meant  to  be  faithful  according  to  his  gifts.  He  was 
scarcely  blameworthy  for  not  knowing  of  the  ex 
istence  of  a  small  back  room  in  the  rear  of  the 
gambling-den;  or  for  the  further  unknowledge  of 
the  fact  that  the  man  in  search  of  diversion  had 
passed  on  into  this  back  room  after  placing  a  few 
bets  at  the  silent  game,  appearing  no  more  until  he 
had  come  out  through  the  gambling-room  on  his 
way  to  the  train.  If  Judson  had  dared  to  press 
his  espial,  he  might  have  been  the  poorer  by  the 
loss  of  blood,  or  possibly  of  his  life;  but,  living  to 
get  away  with  it,  he  would  have  been  the  richer 
for  an  important  bit  of  information.  For  one  thing, 
he  would  have  known  that  Flemister  had  not  spent 
the  afternoon  losing  his  money  across  the  faro-table; 

' 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

and  for  another,  he  might  have  made  sure,  by  listen 
ing  to  the  subdued  voices  beyond  the  closed  door, 
that  the  man  he  was  shadowing  was  not  alone  in 
the  back  room  to  which  he  had  retreated. 


1 86 


XI 

NEMESIS 

ON  the  second  day  following  Flemister's  visit 
to  Angels,  Lidgerwood  was  called  again  to 
Red  Butte  to  another  conference  with  the  mine- 
owners.  On  his  return,  early  in  the  afternoon,  his 
special  was  slowed  and  stopped  at  a  point  a  few 
miles  east  of  the  "Y"  spur  at  Silver  Switch,  and 
upon  looking  out  he  saw  that  Benson's  bridge- 
builders  were  once  more  at  work  on  the  wooden 
trestle  spanning  the  Gloria.  Benson  himself  was  in 
command,  but  he  turned  the  placing  of  the  string- 
timbers  over  to  his  foreman  and  climbed  to  the 
platform  of  the  superintendent's  service-car. 

"I  won't  hold  you  more  than  a  few  minutes," 
he  began,  but  the  superintendent  pointed  to  one  of 
the  camp-chairs  and  sat  down,  saying:  "There's 
no  hurry.  We  have  time  orders  against  73  at 
Timanyoni,  and  we  would  have  to  wait  there,  any 
how.  What  do  you  know  now  ? — more  than  you 
knew  the  last  time  we  talked  ?" 

Benson  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  that  would 
do  us  any  good  in  a  jury  trial,"  he  admitted  re- 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

luctantly.  "We  are  not  going  to  find  out  anything 
more  until  you  send  somebody  up  to  Flemister' s 
mine  with  a  search-warrant." 

Lidgerwood  was  gazing  absently  out  over  the 
low  hills  intervening  between  his  point  of  view 
and  the  wooded  summit  of  Little  Butte. 

"Whom  am  I  to  send,  Jack?"  he  asked.  "I 
have  just  come  from  Red  Butte,  and  I  took  occa 
sion  to  make  a  few  inquiries.  Flemister  is  evi 
dently  prepared  at  all  points.  From  what  I  learned 
to-day,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  sheriff  of 
Timanyoni  County  would  probably  refuse  to  serve 
a  warrant  against  him,  if  we  could  find  a  magis 
trate  who  would  issue  one.  Nice  state  of  affairs, 
isn't  it?" 

"Beautiful,"  Benson  agreed,  adding:  "But  you 
don't  want  Flemister  half  as  bad  as  you  want  the 
man  who  is  working  with  him.  Are  you  still  try 
ing  to  believe  that  it  isn't  Hallock?" 

"I  am  still  trying  to  be  fair  and  just.  Mc- 
Closkey  says  that  the  two  used  to  be  friends — Hal- 
lock  and  Flemister.  I  don't  believe  they  are  now. 
Hallock  didn't  want  to  go  to  Flemister  about  that 
building-and-loan  business,  and  I  couldn't  make 
out  whether  he  was  afraid,  or  whether  it  was  just 
a  plain  case  of  dislike." 

"It  would  doubtless  be  Hallock's  policy — and 
188 


Nemesis 

Flemister's,  too,  for  that  matter — to  make  you 
believe  they  are  not  friends.  You'll  have  to  ad 
mit  they  are  together  a  great  deal." 

"I'll  admit  it  if  you  say  so,  but  I  didn't  know  it 
before.  How  do  you  know  it  ?" 

"Hallock  is  over  here  every  day  or  two;  I  have 
seen  him  three  or  four  times  since  that  day  when 
he  and  Flemister  were  walking  down  the  new  spur 
together  and  turned  back  at  sight  of  me/'  said 
Benson.  "Of  course,  I  don't  know  what  other 
business  Hallock  may  have  over  here,  but  one 
thing  I  do  know,  he  has  been  across  the  river, 
digging  into  the  inner  consciousness  of  my  old 
prospector.  And  that  isn't  all.  After  he  had  got 
the  story  of  the  timber  stealing  out  of  the  old  man, 
he  tried  to  bribe  him  not  to  tell  it  to  any  one  else; 
tried  the  bribe  first  and  a  scare  afterward — told  him 
that  something  would  happen  to  him  if  he  didn't 
keep  a  still  tongue  in  his  head." 

Lidgerwood  shook  his  head  slowly.  "That 
looks  pretty  bad.  Why  should  he  want  to  silence 
the  old  man  ?" 

'That's  just  what  I've  been  asking  myself.  But 
right  on  the  heels  of  that,  another  little  mystery 
developed.  Hallock  asked  the  old  man  if  he 
would  be  willing  to  swear  in  court  to  the  truth  of 
his  story.  The  old  man  said  he  would." 

189 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Well?"    said  Lidgerwood. 

"A  night  or  two  later  the  old  prospector's  shack 
burned  down,  and  the  next  morning  he  found  a 
notice  pinned  to  a  tree  near  one  of  his  sluice- 
boxes.  It  was  a  polite  invitation  for  him  to  put 
distance  between  him  and  the  Timanyoni  district. 
I  suppose  you  can  put  two  and  two  together,  as 
I  did." 

Again  Lidgerwood  said:  "It  looks  pretty  bad 
for  Hallock.  No  one  but  the  thieves  themselves 
could  have  any  possible  reason  for  driving  the  old 
man  out  of  the  country.  Did  he  go?" 

"Not  much;  he  isn't  built  that  way.  That 
same  day  he  went  to  work  building  him  a  new 
shack;  and  he  swears  that  the  next  man  who  gets 
near  enough  to  set  it  afire  won't  live  to  get  away 
and  brag  about  it.  Two  days  afterward  Hallock 
showed  up  again,  and  the  old  fellow  ran  him 
off  with  a  gun." 

Just  then  the  bridge-foreman  came  up  to  say 
that  the  timbers  were  in  place,  and  Benson  swung 
off  to  give  Lidgerwood's  engineer  instructions  to 
run  carefully.  As  the  service-car  platform  came 
along,  Lidgerwood  leaned  over  the  railing  for  a 
final  word  with  Benson.  "Keep  in  touch  with 
your  old  man,  and  tell  him  to  count  on  us  for  pro 
tection,"  he  said;  and  Benson  nodded  acquiescence 

190 


Nemesis 

as  the  one-car  train  crept  out  upon  the  dismantled 
bridge. 

Having  an  appointment  with  Leckhard,  of  the 
main  line,  timed  for  an  early  hour  the  following 
morning,  Lidgerwood  gave  his  conductor  instruc 
tions  to  stop  at  Angels  only  long  enough  to  get 
orders  for  the  eastern  division. 

When  the  division  station  was  reached,  Mc- 
Closkey  met  the  service-car  in  accordance  with 
wire  instructions  sent  from  Timanyoni,  bringing 
an  armful  of  mail,  which  Lidgerwood  purposed 
to  work  through  on  the  run  to  Copah. 

"Nothing  new,  Mac?"  he  asked,  when  the 
trainmaster  came  aboard. 

"Nothing  much,  only  the  operators  have  notified 
me  that  there'll  be  trouble,  pronto,  if  we  don't  put 
Hannegan  and  Dickson  back  on  the  wires.  The 
grievance  committee  intimated  pretty  broadly  that 
they  could  swing  the  trainmen  into  line  if  they  had 
to  make  a  fight." 

"We  put  no  man  back  who  has  been  discharged 
for  cause,"  said  the  superintendent  firmly.  "Did 
you  tell  them  that?" 

"I  did.  I  have  been  saying  that  so  often  that  it 
mighty  nearly  says  itself  now,  when  I  hear  my  office 
door  open." 

"Well,  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  on  saying 
191 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

it.  We  shall  either  make  a  spoon  or  spoil  a  horn. 
How  would  you  be  fixed  in  the  event  of  a  teleg 
raphers'  strike  ?" 

"I've  been  figuring  on  that.  It  may  seem  like 
tempting  the  good  Lord  to  say  it,  but  I  believe  we 
could  hold  about  half  of  the  men." 

'That  is  decidedly  encouraging,"  said  the  man 

who  needed  to  find  encouragement  where  he  could. 

'Two  weeks  ago,  if  you  had  said  one  in  ten,  I 

should    have    thought   you    were    overestimating. 

We  shall  win  out  yet." 

But  now  McCloskey  was  shaking  his  head  du 
biously.  "I  don't  know.  Andy  Bradford  has 
been  giving  me  an  idea  of  how  the  trainmen  stand, 
and  he  says  there  is  a  good  deal  of  strike  talk. 
Williams  adds  a  word  about  the  shop  force:  he 
says  that  Gridley's  men  are  not  saying  anything, 
but  they'll  be  likely  to  go  out  in  a  body  unless 
Gridley  wakes  up  at  the  last  minute  and  takes  -a 
club  to  them." 

Lidgerwood's  conductor  was  coming  down  the 
platform  of  the  Crow's  Nest  with  his  orders  in  his 
hand,  and  McCloskey  made  ready  to  swing  off. 
"I  can  reach  you  care  of  Mr.  Leckhard,  at  Copah, 
I  suppose?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  I  shall  be  back  some  time  to-morrow; 
in  the  meantime  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit 

192 


Nemesis 

tight  in  the  boat.  Use  my  private  code  if  you  want 
to  wire  me.  I  don't  more  than  half  trust  that 
young  fellow,  Dix,  Callahan's  day  operator.  And, 
by  the  way,  Mr.  Frisbie  is  sending  me  a  stenog 
rapher  from  Denver.  If  the  young  man  turns  up 
while  I  am  away,  see  if  you  can't  get  Mrs.  Wil 
liams  to  board  him." 

McCloskey  promised  and  dropped  off,  and  the 
one-car  special  presently  clanked  out  over  the 
eastern  switches.  Lidgerwood  went  at  once  to  his 
desk  and  promptly  became  deaf  and  blind  to  every 
thing  but  his  work.  The  long  desert  run  had  been 
accomplished,  and  the  service-car  train  was  climb 
ing  theCrosswater  grades,  when  Tadasu  Matsuwari 
began  to  lay  the  table  for  dinner.  Lidgerwood 
glanced  at  his  watch,  and  ran  his  ringer  down  the 
line  of  figures  on  the  framed  time-table  hanging 
over  his  desk. 

"Humph!"  he  muttered;  "Acheson's  making 
better  time  with  me  than  he  ever  has  before.  I 
wonder  if  Williams  has  succeeded  in  talking  him 
over  to  our  side  ?  He  is  certainly  running  like  a 
gentleman  to-day,  at  all  events." 

The  superintendent  sat  down  to  Tadasu's  table 
and  took  his  time  to  Tadasu's  excellent  dinner, 
indulging  himself  so  far  as  to  smoke  a  leisurely 
cigar  with  his  black  coffee  before  plunging  again 

193 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

into  the  sea  of  work.  Not  to  spoil  his  improving 
record,  Engineer  Acheson  continued  to  make  good 
time,  and  it  was  only  a  little  after  eleven  o'clock 
when  Lidgerwood,  looking  up  from  his  work  at  the 
final  slowing  of  the  wheels,  saw  the  masthead 
lights  of  the  Copah  yards. 

Taking  it  for  granted  that  Superintendent  Leek- 
hard  had  long  since  left  his  office  in  the  Pacific 
Southwestern  building,  Lidgerwood  gave  orders  to 
have  his  car  placed  on  the  station-spur,  and  went 
on  with  his  work.     Being  at  the  moment  deeply 
immersed   in   the   voluminous   papers   of  a   claim 
for  stock  killed,  he  was  quite  oblivious  of  the  place 
ment  of  the  car,  and  of  everything  else,  until  the  in 
coming  of  the  fast  main-line  mail  from  the  east 
warned  him  that  another  hour  had  passed.     When 
the  mail  was  gone  on  its  way  westward,  the  mid 
night  silence  settled  down  again,  with  nothing  but 
the  minimized  crashings  of  freight  cars  in  the  lower 
shifting-yard   to   disturb  it.     The   little   Japanese 
had  long  since  made  up  his  bunk  in  one  of  the 
spare  state-rooms,  the  train  crew  had  departed  with 
the  engine,  and  the  last  mail-wagon  had   driven 
away  up-town.     Lidgerwood  had  closed  his  desk 
and  was  taking  a  final  pull  at  the  short  pipe  which 
was  his  working  companion,  when  the  car  door 
opened  silently  and  he  saw  an  apparition. 

194 


Nemesis 

Standing  in  the  doorway  and  groping  with  her 
hands  held  out  before  her  as  if  she  were  blind,  was 
a  woman.  Her  gown  was  the  tawdry  half-dress 
of  the  dance-halls,  and  the  wrap  over  her  bare 
shoulders  was  a  gaudy  imitation  in  colors  of  the 
Spanish  mantilla.  Her  head  was  without  covering, 
and  her  hair,  which  was  luxuriant,  hung  in  disorder 
over  her  face.  One  glance  at  the  eyes,  fixed  and 
staring,  assured  Lidgerwood  instantly  that  he  had 
to  do  with  one  who  was  either  drink-maddened  or 
demented. 

"Where  is  he  ?"  the  intruder  asked,  in  a  throaty 
whisper,  staring,  not  at  him,  as  Lidgerwood  was 
quick  to  observe,  but  straight  ahead  at  the  por 
tieres  cutting  off*  the  state-room  corridor  from  the 
open  compartment.  And  then:  "I  told  you  I 
would  come,  Rankin;  I've  been  watching  years 
and  years  for  your  car  to  come  in.  Look — I  want 
you  to  see  what  you  have  made  of  me,  you  and  that 
other  man." 

Lidgerwood  sat  perfectly  still.  It  was  quite 
evident  that  the  woman  did  not  see  him.  But 
his  thoughts  were  busy.  Though  it  was  by  little 
more  than  chance,  he  knew  that  Hallock's  Chris 
tian  name  was  Rankin,  and  instantly  he  recalled  all 
that  McCloskey  had  told  him  about  the  chief 
clerk's  marital  troubles.  Was  this  poor  painted 

195 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

wreck  the  woman  who  was,  or  who  had  been,  Hal- 
lock's  wife  ?  The  question  had  scarcely  formu 
lated  itself  before  she  began  again. 
*  "Why  don't  you  answer  me  ?  Where  are  you  ?" 
she  demanded,  in  the  same  husky  whisper;  "you 
needn't  hide — I  know  you  are  here.  What  have 
you  done  to  that  man  ?  You  said  you  would  kill 
him;  you  promised  me  that,  Rankin:  have  you 
done  it?" 

Lidgerwood  reached  up  cautiously  behind  him, 
and  slowly  turned  off  the  gas  from  the  bracket 
desk-lamp.  Without  wishing  to  pry  deeper  than 
he  should  into  a  thing  which  had  all  the  ear-marks 
of  a  tragedy,  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  he  was 
on  the  verge  of  discoveries  which  might  have  an 
important  bearing  upon  the  mysterious  problems 
centring  in  the  chief  clerk.  And  he  was  afraid 
the  woman  would  see  him. 

But  he  was  not  permitted  to  make  the  discov 
eries.  The  woman  had  taken  two  or  three  steps 
into  the  car,  still  groping  her  way  as  if  the  brightly 
lighted  interior  were  the  darkest  of  caverns,  when 
some  one  swung  over  the  railing  of  the  observation 
platform,  and  Superintendent  Leckhard  appeared 
at  the  open  door.  Without  hesitation  he  entered 
and  touched  the  woman  on  the  shoulder.  "Hello, 
Madgie,"  he  said,  not  ungently,  "you  here  again  ? 

196 


Nemesis 

It's  pretty  late  for  even  your  kind  to  be  out,  isn't  it  ? 
Better  trot  away  and  go  to  bed,  if  you've  got  one  to 
go  to;  he  isn't  here." 

The  woman  put  her  hands  to  her  face,  and  Lidg- 
erwood  saw  that  she  was  shaking  as  if  with  a 
sudden  chill.  Then  she  turned  and  darted  away 
like  a  frightened  animal.  Leckhard  was  drawing 
a  chair  up  to  face  Lidgerwood. 

"Did  she  give  you  a  turn?"  he  asked,  when 
Lidgerwood  reached  up  and  turned  the  desk-lamp 
on  full  again. 

"Not  exactly  that,  though  it  was  certainly  star 
tling  enough.  I  had  no  warning  at  all;  when  I 
looked  up,  she  was  standing  pretty  nearly  where 
she  was  when  you  came  in.  She  didn't  seem  to  see 
me  at  all,  and  she  was  talking  crazily  all  the  time 
to  some  one  else — some  one  who  isn't  here." 

"I  know,"  said  Leckhard;  "she  has  done  it 
before." 

"Whom  is  she  trying  to  find?"  asked  Lidger 
wood,  wishing  to  have  his  suspicion  either  denied 
or  confirmed. 

"  Didn't  she  call  him  by  name  ? — she  usually  does. 
It's  your  chief  clerk,  Hallock.  She  is — or  was— 
his  wife.  Haven't  you  heard  the  ghastly  story  yet  ? " 

"No;  and,  Leckhard,  I  don't  know  that  I  care 
to  hear  it.  It  can't  possibly  concern  me." 

197 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"It's  just  as  well,  I  guess,"  said  the  main-line 
superintendent  carelessly.  "I  probably  shouldn't 
get  it  straight  anyway.  It's  a  rather  horrible  af 
fair,  though,  I  believe.  There  is  another  man 
mixed  up  in  it — the  man  whom  she  is  always  ask 
ing  if  Hallock  has  killed.  Curiously  enough,  she 
never  names  the  other  man,  and  there  have  been 
a  good  many  guesses.  I  believe  your  head  boiler- 
maker,  Gridley,  has  the  most  votes.  He's  been 
seen  with  her  here,  now  and  then — when  he's  on 
one  of  his  ' periodicals.'  By  Jove!  Lidgerwood, 
I  don't  envy  you  your  job  over  yonder  in  the  Red 
Desert  a  little  bit.  .  .  .  But  about  the  consolida 
tion  of  the  yards  here:  I  got  a  telegram  after  I 
wired  you,  making  it  necessary  for  me  to  go  west 
on  main-line  Twenty-seven  early  in  the  morning, 
so  I  stayed  up  to  talk  this  yard  business  over  with 
you  to-night." 

It  was  well  along  in  the  small  hours  when  the 
roll  of  blue-print  maps  was  finally  laid  aside,  and 
Leckhard  rose  yawning.  "We'll  carry  it  out  as 
you  propose,  and  divide  the  expense  between  the 
two  divisions,"  he  said  in  conclusion.  "Frisbie 
has  left  it  to  us,  and  he  will  approve  whatever  we 
agree  upon.  Will  you  go  up  to  the  hotel  with  me, 
or  bunk  down  here  ?" 

Lidgerwood  said  he  would  stay  with  his  car;  or, 
198 


Nemesis 

better  still,  now  that  the  business  for  which  he  had 
come  to  Copah  was  despatched,  he  would  have  the 
roundhouse  night  foreman  call  a  Red  Butte  West 
ern  crew  and  go  back  to  his  desert. 

"We  are  in  the  thick  of  things  over  on  the  jerk 
water  just  now,"  he  explained,  "and  I  don't  like  to 
stay  away  any  longer  than  I  have  to." 

"Having  a  good  bit  of  trouble  with  the  sure- 
shots  ?"  asked  Leckhard.  "What  was  that  story 
I  heard  about  somebody  swiping  one  of  your 
switching-engines  ? " 

"It  was  true,"  said  Lidgerwood,  adding,  "But 
I  think  we  shall  recover  the  engine — and  some 
other  things — presently."  He  liked  Leckhard 
well  enough,  but  he  wished  he  would  go.  There 
are  exigencies  in  which  even  the  comments  of  a 
friend  and  well-wisher  are  superfluous. 

"You  have  a  pretty  tough  gang  to  handle  over 
there,"  the  well-wisher  went  on.  "I  wouldn't 
touch  a  job  like  yours  with  a  ten-foot  pole,  unless 
I  could  shoot  good  enough  to  be  sure  of  hitting  a 
half-dollar  nine  times  out  of  ten  at  thirty  paces. 
Somebody  was  telling  me  that  you  have  already  had 
trouble  with  that  fellow  Rufford." 

"Nobody  was  hurt,  and  Rufford  is  in  jail,"  said 
Lidgerwood,  hoping  to  kill  the  friendly  inquiry 
before  it  should  run  into  details. 

199 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Oh,  well,  it's  all  in  the  day's  work,  I  suppose, 
which  reminds  me:  my  day's  work  to-morrow 
won't  amount  to  much  if  I  don't  go  and  turn  in. 
Good-night." 

When  Leckhard  was  gone,  Lidgerwood  climbed 
the  stair  in  the  station  building  to  the  despatcher's 
office  and  gave  orders  for  the  return  of  his  car  to 
Angels.  Half  an  hour  later  the  one-car  special 
was  retracing  its  way  westward  up  the  valley  of  the 
Tumbling  Water,  and  Lidgerwood  was  trying  to 
go  to  sleep  in  the  well-appointed  little  state-room 
which  it  was  Tadasu  Matsuwari's  pride  to  keep 
spick  and  span  and  spotlessly  clean.  But  there 
were  disturbing  thoughts,  many  and  varied,  to  keep 
him  awake,  chief  among  them  those  which  hung 
upon  the  dramatic  midnight  episode  with  the  de 
mented  woman  for  its  central  figure.  Through 
what  dreadful  Valley  of  Humiliation  had  she  come 
to  reach  the  abysmal  depths  in  which  the  one  cry 
of  her  soul  was  a  cry  for  vengeance  ?  Who  was 
the  unnamed  man  whom  Hallock  had  promised  to 
kill  ?  How  much  or  how  little  was  this  tragedy 
figuring  in  the  trouble  storm  which  was  brooding 
over  the  Red  Desert?  And  how  much  or  how 
little  would  it  involve  one  who  was  anxious  only 
to  see  even-handed  justice  prevail  ? 

These  and  similar  insistent  questions  kept  Lidg- 

200 


Nemesis 

erwood  awake  long  after  his  train  had  left  the 
crooked  pathway  marked  out  by  the  Tumbling 
Water,  and  when  he  finally  fell  asleep  the  laboring 
engine  of  the  one-car  special  was  storming  the  ap 
proaches  to  Crosswater  Summit. 


201 


XII 

THE    PLEASURERS 

THE  freight  wreck  in  the  Crosswater  Hills, 
coming  a  fortnight  after  RufforcTs  arrest  and 
deportation  to  Copah  and  the  county  jail,  rudely 
marked  the  close  of  the  short  armistice  in  the  con 
flict  between  law  and  order  and  the  demoralization 
which  seemed  to  thrive  the  more  lustily  in  propor 
tion  to  Lidgerwood's  efforts  to  stamp  it  out. 

Thirty-two  boxes,  gondolas,  and  flats,  racing 
down  the  Crosswater  grades  in  the  heart  of  a  flaw 
less,  crystalline  summer  afternoon  at  the  heels  of 
Clay's  big  ten-wheeler,  suddenly  left  the  steel  as 
a  unit  to  heap  themselves  in  chaotic  confusion  upon 
the  right-of-way,  and  to  round  out  the  disaster  at 
the  moment  of  impact  by  exploding  a  shipment  of 
giant  powder  somewhere  in  the  midst  of  the  debris. 

Lidgerwood  was  on  the  western  division  inspect 
ing,  with  Benson,  one  of  the  several  tentative 
routes  for  a  future  extension  of  the  Red  Butte  line 
to  a  connection  with  the  Transcontinental  at  Lem- 

202 


The  Pleasurers 

phi  beyond  the  Hophras,  when  the  news  of  the 
wreck  reached  Angels.  Wherefore,  it  was  not 
until  the  following  morning  that  he  was  able  to 
leave  the  head-quarters  station,  on  the  second 
wrecking-train,  bringing  the  big  loo-ton  crane  to 
reinforce  McCloskey,  who  had  been  on  the  ground 
with  the  lighter  clearing  tackle  for  the  better  part 
of  the  night. 

With  a  slowly  smouldering  fire  to  fight,  and  no 
water  to  be  had  nearer  than  the  tank-cars  at  La 
Guayra,  the  trainmaster  had  wrought  miracles. 
By  ten  o'clock  the  main  line  was  cleared,  a  tem 
porary  siding  for  a  working  base  had  been  laid, 
and  McCloskey' s  men  were  hard  at  work  picking 
up  what  the  fire  had  spared  when  Lidgerwood 
arrived. 

"Pretty  clean  sweep  this  time,  eh,  Mac?''  was 
the  superintendent's  greeting,  when  he  had  pene 
trated  to  the  thick  of  things  where  McCloskey 
was  toiling  and  sweating  with  his  men. 

"So  clean  that  we  get  nothing  much  but  scrap- 
iron  out  of  what's  left,"  growled  McCloskey, 
climbing  out  of  the  tangle  of  crushed  cars  and  bent 
and  twisted  iron-work  to  stand  beside  Lidgerwood 
on  the  main-line  embankment.  Then  to  the  men 
who  were  making  the  snatch-hitch  for  the  next 
pull:  "A  little  farther  back,  boys;  farther  yet,  so 

203 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

she  won't  overbalance  on  you;  that's  about  it. 
Now,  wig  it!" 

"You  seem  to  be  getting  along  all  right  with  the 
outfit  you've  got,"  was  Lidgerwood's  comment. 
"If  you  can  keep  this  up  we  may  as  well  go  back 
to  Angels." 

"No,  don't!"  protested  the  trainmaster.  "We 
can  snake  out  these  scrap-heaps  after  a  fashion, 
but  when  it  comes  to  resurrecting  the  195 — did  you 
notice  her  as  you  came  along  ?  We  kept  the  fire 
from  getting  to  her,  but  she's  dug  herself  into  the 
ground  like  a  dog  after  a  woodchuck!  " 

Lidgerwood  nodded.  "I  looked  her  over,"  he 
said.  "If  she'd  had  a  little  more  time  and  another 
wheel-turn  or  two  to  spare,  she  might  have  disap 
peared  entirely — like  that  switching-engine  you 
can't  find.  I'm  taking  it  for  granted  that  you 
haven't  found  it  yet — or  have  you?" 

"No,  I  haven't!"  grated  McCloskey,  and  he 
said  it  like  a  man  with  a  grievance.  Then  he 
added:  "I  gave  you  all  the  pointers  I  could  find 
two  weeks  ago.  Whenever  you  get  ready  to  put 
Hallock  under  the  hydraulic  press,  you'll  squeeze 
what  you  want  to  know  out  of  him." 

This  was  coming  to  be  an  old  subject  and  a  sore 
one.  The  trainmaster  still  insisted  that  Hallock 
was  the  man  who  was  planning  the  robberies  and 

204 


The  Pleasurers 

plotting  the  downfall  of  the  Lidgerwood  manage 
ment,  and  he  wanted  to  have  the  chief  clerk  syste 
matically  shadowed.  And  it  was  Lidgerwood' s 
wholly  groundless  prepossession  for  Hallock  that 
was  still  keeping  him  from  turning  the  matter  over 
to  the  company's  legal  department — this  in  spite 
of  the  growing  accumulation  of  evidence  all  point 
ing  to  Hallock' s  treason.  Subjected  to  a  rigid 
cross-examination,  Judson  had  insisted  that  a  part, 
at  least,  of  his  drunken  recollection  was  real — that 
part  identifying  the  voices  of  the  two  plotters  in 
Cat  Biggs's  back  room  as  those  of  Rufford  and 
Hallock.  Moreover,  it  was  no  longer  deniable 
that  the  chief  clerk  was  keeping  in  close  touch  with 
the  discharged  employees,  for  some  purpose  best 
known  to  himself;  and  latterly  he  had  been 
dropping  out  of  his  office  without  notice,  disap 
pearing,  sometimes,  for  a  day  at  a  time. 

Lidgerwood  was  recalling  the  last  of  these  dis 
appearances  when  the  second  wrecking-train, 
having  backed  to  the  nearest  siding  to  admit  of  a 
reversal  of  its  make-up  order  and  the  placing  of 
the  crane  in  the  lead,  came  up  to  go  into  action. 
McCloskey  shaded  his  eyes  from  the  sun's  glare  and 
looked  down  the  line. 

"Hello!"  he  exclaimed.  "Got  a  new  wrecking- 
boss?" 

205 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

The  superintendent  nodded.  "I  have  one  in 
the  making.  Dawson  wanted  to  come  along  and 
try  his  hand." 

"Did  Gridley  send  him?" 

"No;   Gridley  is  away  somewhere." 

"So  Fred's  your  understudy,  is  he  ?  Well,  I've 
got  one,  too.  I'll  show  him  to  you  after  a 
while." 

They  were  walking  back  over  the  ties  toward  the 
half-buried  195.  The  ten-wheeler  was  on  its  side 
in  the  ditch,  nuzzling  the  opposite  bank  of  a  low 
cutting.  Dawson  had  already  divided  his  men: 
half  of  them  to  place  the  huge  jack-beams  and 
outriggers  of  the  self-contained  steam  lifting  ma 
chine  to  insure  its  stability,  and  the  other  half  to 
trench  under  the  fallen  engine  and  to  adjust  the 
chain  slings  for  the  hitch. 

"It's  a  pretty  long  reach,  Fred,"  said  the  su 
perintendent.  "Going  to  try  it  from  here  ?" 

"Best  place,"  said  the  reticent  one  shortly. 

Lidgerwood  was  looking  at  his  watch. 

"Williams  will  be  due  here  before  long  with 
a  special  from  Copah.  I  don't  want  to  hold  him 
up,"  he  remarked. 

'Thirty    minutes?"     inquired    the    draftsman, 
without  taking  mind  or  eye  off  his  problem. 

"Oh,  yes;   forty  or  fifty,  maybe." 
206 


The  Pleasurers 

"All  right,  I'll  be  out  of  the  way,"  was  the  quiet 
rejoinder. 

"Yes,  you  will!"  was  McCloskey's  ironical 
comment,  when  the  draftsman  had  gone  around 
to  the  other  side  of  the  great  crane. 

"Let  him  alone,"  said  Lidgerwood.  "It  lies 
in  my  mind  that  we  are  developing  a  genius,  Mac." 

"He'll  fall  down,"  grumbled  the  trainmaster. 
"That  crane  won't  pick  up  the  '95  clear  the  way 
she's  lying." 

"Won't  it  ?"  said  Lidgerwood.  "That's  where 
you  are  mistaken.  It  will  pick  up  anything  we 
have  on  the  two  divisions.  It's  the  biggest  and 
best  there  is  made.  How  did  you  come  to  get  a 
tool  like  that  on  the  Red  Butte  Western  ?" 

McCloskey  grinned. 

"You  don't  know  Gridley  yet.  He's  a  crank 
on  good  machinery.  That  crane  was  a  clean 
steal." 

"What?" 

"I  mean  it.  It  was  ordered  for  one  of  the  South 
American  railroads,  and  was  on  its  way  to  the 
Coast  over  the  P.  S-W.  About  the  time  it  got  as 
far  as  Copah,  we  happened  to  have  a  mix-up  in 
our  Copah  yards,  with  a  ditched  engine  that 
Gridley  couldn't  pick  up  with  the  6o-ton  crane 
we  had  on  the  ground.  So  he  borrowed  this  one 

207 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

out  of  the  P.  S-W.  yards,  used  it,  liked  it,  and  kept 
it,  sending  our  6o-ton  machine  on  to  the  South 
Americans  in  its  place." 

"What  rank  piracy!"  Lidgerwood  exclaimed. 
"I  don't  wonder  they  call  us  buccaneers  over  here. 
How  could  he  do  it  without  being  found  out  ?" 

"That  puzzled  more  than  two  or  three  of  us; 
but  one  of  the  men  told  me  some  time  afterward 
how  it  was  done.  Gridley  had  a  painter  go  down 
in  the  night  and  change  the  lettering — on  our  old 
crane  and  on  this  new  one.  It  happened  that  they 
were  both  made  by  the  same  manufacturing  com 
pany,  and  were  of  substantially  the  same  general 
pattern.  I  suppose  the  P.  S-W.  yard  crew  didn't 
notice  particularly  that  the  crane  they  had  lent  us 
out  of  the  through  westbound  freight  had  shrunk 
somewhat  in  the  using.  But  I'll  bet  those  South 
Americans  are  saying  pleasant  things  to  the  manu 
facturers  yet." 

"Doubtless,"  Lidgerwood  agreed,  and  now  he 
was  not  smiling.  The  little  side-light  on  the  former 
Red-Butte-Western  methods — and  upon  Gridley 
—was  sobering. 

By  this  time  Dawson  had  got  his  big  lifter  in 
position,  with  its  huge  steel  arm  overreaching  the 
fallen  engine,  and  was  giving  his  orders  quietly, 
but  with  clean-cut  precision. 

208 


The  Pleasurers 

"Man  that  hand-fall  and  take  slack!  Pay  off, 
Darby,"  to  the  hoister  engineer.  " That's  right; 
more  slack!" 

The  great  tackling-hook,  as  big  around  as  a 
man's  thigh,  settled  accurately  over  the  195. 

"There  you  are!"  snapped  Dawson.  "Now 
make  your  hitch,  boys,  and  be  lively  about  it. 
You've  got  just  about  one  minute  to  do  it  in!" 

"Heavens  to  Betsey!"  said  McCloskey.  "He's 
going  to  pick  it  up  at  one  hitch — and  without 
blocking!" 

"Hands  off,  Mac/'  said  Lidgerwood  good- 
naturedly.  "If  Fred  didn't  know  this  trade 
before,  he's  learning  it  pretty  rapidly  now." 

"That's  all  right,  but  if  he  doesn't  break  some 
thing  before  he  gets  through— 

But  Dawson  was  breaking  nothing.  Having 
designed  locomotives,  he  knew  to  the  fraction  of  an 
inch  where  the  balancing  hitch  should  be  made  for 
lifting  one.  Also  machinery,  and  the  breaking 
strains  of  it,  were  as  his  daily  bread.  While  Mc 
Closkey  was  still  prophesying  failure,  he  was  giv 
ing  the  word  to  Darby,  the  hoister  engineer. 

"Now  then,  Billy,  try  your  hitch!  Put  the  strain 
on  a  little  at  a  time  and  often.  Steady! — now 
you've  got  her — keep  her  coming!" 

Slowly  the  big  freight-puller  rose  out  of  its 
209 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

furrow  in  the  gravel,  righting  itself  to  the  perpen 
dicular  as  it  came.  Anticipating  the  inward  swing 
of  it,  Dawson  was  showing  his  men  how  to  place 
ties  and  rails  for  a  short  temporary  track,  and 
when  he  gave  Darby  the  stop  signal,  the  hoisting 
cables  were  singing  like  piano  strings,  and  the 
big  engine  was  swinging  bodily  in  the  air  in  the 
grip  of  the  crane  tackle,  poised  to  a  nicety  above 
the  steel  placed  to  receive  it. 

Dawson  climbed  up  to  the  main-line  embank 
ment  where  Darby  could  see  him,  and  where  he 
could  see  all  the  parts  of  his  problem  at  once. 
Then  his  hands  went  up  to  beckon  the  slacking 
signals.  At  the  lifting  of  his  finger  there  was  a 
growling  of  gears  and  a  backward  racing  of  ma 
chinery,  a  groan  of  relaxing  strains,  and  a  cry  of 
"All  gone!"  and  the  195  stood  upright,  ready  to 
be  hauled  out  when  the  temporary  track  should 
be  extended  to  a  connection  with  the  main  line. 

"Let's  go  up  to  the  other  end  and  see  how  your 
understudy  is  making  it,  Mac,"  said  the  gratified 
superintendent.  "It  is  quite  evident  that  we  can't 
tell  this  young  man  anything  he  doesn't  already 
know  about  picking  up  locomotives." 

On  the  way  up  the  track  he  asked  about  Clay 
and  Green,  the  engineer  and  fireman  who  were  in 
the  wreck. 


210 


The  Pleasurers 

"They  are  not  badly  hurt,"  said  the  train 
master.  "They  both  jumped — on  Green's  side, 
luckily.  Clay  was  bruised  considerably,  and 
Green  says  he  knows  he  plowed  up  fifty  yards  of 
gravel  with  his  face  before  he  stopped — and  he 
looked  it.  They  both  went  home  on  201." 

Lidgerwood  was  examining  the  cross-ties,  which 
were  cut  and  scarred  by  the  flanges  of  many  de 
railed  wheels. 

"You  have  no  notion  of  what  did  it  ?"  he  queried, 
turning  abruptly  upon  McCloskey. 

"Only  a  guess,  and  it  couldn't  be  verified  in  a 
thousand  years.  The  '95  went  ofF  first,  and  Clay 
and  Green  both  say  it  felt  as  if  a  rail  had  turned 
over  on  the  outside  of  the  curve." 

"What  did  you  find  when  you  got  here  ?" 
"Chaos  and  Old  Night:    a  pile  of  scrap  with  a 
hole  torn  in  the  middle  of  it  as  if  by  an  explosion, 
and  a  fire  going." 

"Of  course,  you  couldn't  tell  anything  about  the 
cause,  under  such  conditions." 

"Not  much,  you'd  say;  and  yet  a  queer  thing 
happened.  The  entire  train  went  off  so  thor 
oughly  that  it  passed  the  point  where  the  trouble 
began  before  it  piled  up.  I  was  able  to  verify 
Clay's  guess — a  rail  had  turned  over  on  the  out 
side  of  the  curve." 


211 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

'That  proves  nothing  more  than  poor  spike- 
holds  in  a  few  dry-rotted  cross-ties,"  Lidgerwood 
objected. 

"No;  there  were  a  number  of  others  farther 
along  also  turned  over  and  broken  and  bent. 
But  the  first  one  was  the  only  freak." 

"How  was  that?" 

"Well,  it  wasn't  either  broken  or  bent;  but  when 
it  turned  over  it  not  only  unscrewed  the  nuts  of  the 
fish-plate  bolts  and  threw  them  away — it  pulled  out 
every  spike  on  both  sides  of  itself  and  hid  them." 

Lidgerwood  nodded  gravely.  "I  should  say 
your  guess  has  already  verified  itself.  All  it  lacks 
is  the  name  of  the  man  who  loosened  the  fish-plate 
bolts  and  pulled  the  spikes." 

"That's  about  all." 

The  superintendent's  eyes  narrowed. 

"Who  was  missing  out  of  the  Angels  crowd  of 
trouble-makers  yesterday,  Mac?" 

"I  hate  to  say,"  said  the  trainmaster.  "God 
knows  I  don't  want  to  put  it  all  over  any  man  un 
less  it  belongs  to  him,  but  I'm  locoed  every  time  it 
comes  to  that  kind  of  a  guess.  Every  bunch  of 
letters  I  see  spells  just  one  name." 

"Go  on,"  said  Lidgerwood  sharply. 

"Hallock  came  somewhere  up  this  way  on  202 
yesterday." 

212 


The  Pleasurers 

''I  know,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "I  sent  him 
out  to  Navajo  to  meet  Cruikshanks,  the  cattleman 
with  the  long  claim  for  stock  injured  in  the  Gap 
wreck  two  weeks  ago." 

"Did  he  stop  at  Navajo?"  queried  the  train 
master. 

"  I  suppose  so ;  at  any  rate,  he  saw  Cruikshanks." 

"Well,  I  haven't  got  any  more  guesses,  only  a 
notion  or  two.  This  is  a  pretty  stiff  up-grade  for 
202 — she  passes  here  at  two-fifty — just  about  an 
hour  before  Clay  found  that  loosened  rail — and  it 
wouldn't  be  impossible  for  a  man  to  drop  off  as 
she  was  climbing  this  curve." 

But  now  the  superintendent  was  shaking  his 
head. 

"It  doesn't  hold  together,  Mac;  there  are  too 
many  parts  missing.  Your  hypothesis  presup 
poses  that  Hallock  took  a  day  train  out  of  Angels, 
rode  twelve  miles  past  his  destination,  jumped  off 
here  while  the  train  was  in  motion,  pulled  the 
spikes  on  this  loosened  rail,  and  walked  back  to 
Navajo  in  time  to  see  the  cattleman  and  get  in  to 
Angels  on  the  delayed  Number  75  this  morning. 
Could  he  have  done  all  these  things  without  adver 
tising  them  to  everybody?" 

"I  know,"  confessed  the  trainmaster.  "It 
doesn't  look  reasonable." 

213 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"It  isn't  reasonable,"  Lidgerwood  went  on,  ar 
guing  Hallock' s  case  as  if  it  were  his  own.  "  Brad 
ford  was  zoz's  conductor;  he'd  know  if  Hallock 
failed  to  get  off  at  Navajo.  Gridley  was  a  pas 
senger  on  the  same  train,  and  he  would  have  known. 
The  agent  at  Navajo  would  be  a  third  witness. 
He  was  expecting  Hallock  on  that  train,  and  was 
no  doubt  holding  Cruikshanks.  Your  guesses 
prefigure  Hallock  failing  to  show  up  when  the  train 
stopped  at  Navajo,  and  make  it  necessary  for  him 
to  explain  to  the  two  men  who  were  waiting  for  him 
why  he  let  Bradford  carry  him  by  so  far  that  it  took 
him  several  hours  to  walk  back.  You  see  how  in 
credible  it  all  is  ?" 

"Yes,  I  see,"  said  McCloskey,  and  when  he 
spoke  again  they  were  several  rail-lengths  nearer 
the  up-track  end  of  the  wreck,  and  his  question 
went  back  to  Lidgerwood's  mention  of  the  ex 
pected  special. 

"You  were  saying  something  to  Dawson  about 
Williams  and  a  special  train:  is  that  Mr.Brewster 
coming  in  ?" 

:'Yes.  He  wired  from  Copah  last  night.  He 
has  Mr.  Ford's  car — the  Nadia" 

The  trainmaster's  face-contortion  was  expres 
sive  of  the  deepest  chagrin. 

"Suffering  Moses!    but  this  is  a  nice  thing  for 
214 


The  Pleasurers 

the  president  of  the  road  to  see  as  he  comes  along! 
Wouldn't  the  luck  we're  having  make  a  dog  sick  ?" 

Lidgerwood  shook  his  head.  "That  isn't  the 
worst  of  it,  Mac.  Mr.  Brewster  isn't  a  railroad 
man,  and  he  will  probably  think  this  is  all  in  the 
day's  work.  But  he  is  going  to  stop  at  Angels  and 
go  over  to  his  copper  mine,  which  means  that  he 
will  camp  right  down  in  the  midst  of  the  mix-up. 
I'd  cheerfully  give  a  year's  salary  to  have  him  stay 
away  a  few  weeks  longer." 

McCloskey  was  not  a  swearing  man  in  the  Red 
Desert  sense  of  the  term,  but  now  his  comment  was 
an  explosive  exclamation  naming  the  conventional 
place  of  future  punishment.  It  was  the  only  word 
he  could  find  adequately  to  express  his  feelings. 

The  superintendent  changed  the  subject. 

"Who  is  your  foreman,  Mac  ?"  he  inquired,  as 
a  huge  mass  of  the  tangled  scrap  was  seen  to  rise 
at  the  end  of  the  smaller  derrick's  grapple. 

"  Judson,"  said  McCloskey  shortly.  "He  asked 
leave  to  come  along  as  a  laborer,  and  when  I 
found  that  he  knew  more  about  train-scrapping 
than  I  did,  I  promoted  him."  There  was  some 
thing  like  defiance  in  the  trainmaster's  tone. 

"From  the  way  in  which  you  say  it,  I  infer  that 
you  don't  expect  me  to  approve,"  said  Lidgerwood 
judicially. 

215 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

McCloskey  had  been  without  sleep  for  a  good 
many  hours,  and  his  patience  was  tenuous.  The 
derby  hat  was  tilted  to  its  most  contentious  angle 
when  he  said: 

"I  can't  fight  for  you  when  you're  right,  and  not 
fight  against  you  when  I  think  you  are  wrong,  Mr. 
Lidgerwood.  You  can  have  my  head  any  time 
you  want  it." 

"You  think  I  should  break  my  word  and  take 
Judsonback?" 

"I  think,  and  the  few  men  who  are  still  with  us 
think,  that  you  ought  to  give  the  man  who  stood  in 
the  breach  for  you  a  chance  to  earn  bread  and  meat 
for  his  wife  and  babies,"  snapped  McCloskey, 
who  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat. 

Lidgerwood  was  frowning  when  he  replied: 
"You  don't  see  the  point  involved.  I  can't  reward 
Judson  for  what  you,  yourself,  admit  was  a  personal 
service.  I  have  said  that  no  drunkard  shall  pull  a 
train  on  this  division.  Judson  is  no  less  a  drink- 
maniac  for  the  fact  that  he  arrested  Rufford  when 
everybody  else  was  afraid  to." 

McCloskey  was  mollified  a  little. 

"He  says  he  has  quit  drinking,  and  I  believe 
him  this  time.  But  this  job  I've  given  him  isn't 
pulling  trains." 

"No;  and  if  you  have  cooled  off  enough,  you 
216 


The  Pleasurers 

may  remember  that  I  haven't  yet  disapproved  your 
action.  I  don't  disapprove.  Give  him  anything 
you  like  where  a  possible  relapse  on  his  part  won't 
involve  the  lives  of  other  people.  Is  that  what  you 
want  me  to  say  ? " 

"I  was  hot,"  said  the  trainmaster,  gruffly  apolo 
getic.  "We've  got  none  too  many  friends  to  stand 
by  us  when  the  pinch  comes,  and  we  were  losing 
them  every  day  you  held  out  against  Judson." 

"I'm  still  holding  out  on  the  original  count. 
Judson  can't  run  an  engine  for  me  until  he  has 
proved  conclusively  and  beyond  question  that  he 
has  quit  the  whiskey.  Whatever  other  work  you 
can  find  for  him— 

McCloskey  slapped  his  thigh.  "By  George! 
I've  got  a  job  right  now!  Why  on  top  of  earth 
didn't  I  think  of  him  before  ?  He's  the  man  to 
keep  tab  on  Hallock." 

But  now  Lidgerwood  was  frowning  again. 

"I  don't  like  that,  Mac.  It's  a  dirty  business  to 
be  shadowing  a  man  who  has  a  right  to  suppose 
that  you  are  trusting  him." 

"  But,  good  Lord!  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  haven't  you 
got  enough  to  go  on  ?  Hallock  is  the  last  man  seen 
around  the  engine  that  disappears;  he  spends  a 
lot  of  his  time  swapping  grievances  with  the  rebels; 
and  he  is  out  of  town  and  within  a  few  miles  of 

217 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

here,  as  you  know,  when  this  wreck  happens.    If  all 
that  isn't  enough  to  earn  him  a  little  suspicion " 

"I  know;  I  can't  argue  the  case  with  you,  Mac. 
But  I  can't  do  it." 

''You  mean  you  won't  do  it.  I  respect  your 
scruples,  Mr.  Lidgerwood.  But  it  is  no  longer  a 
personal  matter  between  you  and  Hallock:  the 
company's  interests  are  involved." 

Without  suspecting  it,  the  trainmaster  had 
found  the  weak  joint  in  the  superintendent's  ar 
mor.  For  the  company's  sake  the  personal  point 
of  view  must  be  ignored. 

"It  is  such  a  despicable  thing,"  he  protested,  as 
one  who  yields  reluctantly.  "And  if,  after  all,  Hal- 
lock  is  innocent — 

'That  is  just  the  point,"  insisted  McCloskey. 
"If  he  is  innocent,  no  harm  will  be  done,  and  Jud- 
son  will  become  a  witness  for  instead  of  against 
him." 

"Well,"  said  Lidgerwood;  and  what  more  he 
would  have  said  about  the  conspiracy  was  cut  off 
by  the  shrill  whistle  of  a  down-coming  train. 
'That's  Williams  with  the  special,"  he  announced, 
when  the  whistle  gave  him  leave.  "Is  your  flag 
out?" 

"Sure.  It's  up  around  the  hill,  with  a  safe  man 
to  waggle  it." 

218 


The  Pleasurers 

Lidgerwood  cast  an  anxious  glance  toward  Daw- 
son's  huge  derrick-car,  which  was  still  blocking 
the  main  line.  The  hoist  tackle  was  swinging 
free,  and  the  jack-beams  and  outriggers  were 
taken  in. 

"  Better  send  somebody  down  to  tell  Dawson  to 
pull  up  here  to  your  temporary  siding,  Mac,"  he 
suggested;  but  Dawson  was  one  of  those  priceless 
helpers  who  did  not  have  to  be  told  in  detail.  He 
had  heard  the  warning  whistle,  and  already  had 
his  train  in  motion. 

By  a  bit  of  quick  shifting,  the  main  line  was 
cleared  before  Williams  swung  cautiously  around 
the  hill  with  the  private  car.  In  obedience  to 
Lidgerwood's  uplifted  finger  the  brakes  were  ap 
plied,  and  the  Nadia  came  to  a  full  stop,  with  its 
observation  platform  opposite  the  end  of  the 
wrecking-track. 

A  big  man,  in  a  soft  hat  and  loose  box  dust-coat, 
with  twinkling  little  eyes  and  a  curling  brown 
beard  that  covered  fully  three-fourths  of  his  face, 
stood  at  the  hand-rail. 

"Hello,  Howard!"  he  called  down  to  Lidger 
wood.  "By  George!  I'd  totally  forgotten  that 
you  were  out  here.  What  are  you  trying  to  do  ? 
Got  so  many  cars  and  engines  that  you  have  to 
throw  some  of  them  away  ?" 

219 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Lidgerwood  climbed  up  the  embankment  to  the 
track,  and  McCloskey  carefully  let  him  do  it  alone. 
The  "Hello,  Howard!"  had  not  been  thrown 
away  upon  the  trainmaster. 

"It  looks  a  little  that  way,  I  must  admit,  Cousin 
Ned,"  said  the  culprit  who  had  answered  so  readily 
to  his  Christian  name.  "We  tried  pretty  hard  to 
get  it  cleaned  up  before  you  came  along,  but  we 
couldn't  quite  make  it." 

"Oho!  tried  to  cover  it  up,  did  you?  Afraid 
I'd  fire  you  ?  You  needn't  be.  My  job  as  presi 
dent  merely  gets  me  passes  over  the  road.  Ford's 
your  man;  he's  the  fellow  you  want  to  be  scared  of." 

"I  am,"  laughed  Lidgerwood.  The  big  man's 
heartiness  was  always  infectious.  Then:  "Com 
ing  over  to  camp  with  us  awhile  ?  If  you  are,  I 
hope  you  carry  your  commissary  along.  Angels 
will  starve  you,  otherwise." 

"Don't  tell  me  about  that  tin-canned  tepee 
village,  Howard — I  know.  I've  been  there  before. 
How  are  we  doing  over  in  the  Timanyoni  foot-hills  ? 
Getting  much  ore  down  from  the  Copperette  ? 
Climb  up  here  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  Or,  better 
still,  come  on  across  the  desert  with  us.  They 
don't  need  you  here." 

The  assertion  was  quite  true.  With  Dawson, 
the  trainmaster,  and  an  understudy  Judson  for 

220 


The  Pleasurers 

bosses,  there  was  no  need  of  a  fourth.  Yet  intu 
ition,  or  whatever  masculine  thing  it  is  that  stands 
for  intuition,  prompted  Lidgerwood  to  say: 

"I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  leave.  I've  just 
come  out  from  Angels,  you  know." 

But  the  president  was  not  to  be  denied. 

"Climb  up  here  and  quit  trying  to  find  excuses. 
We'll  give  you  a  better  luncheon  than  you'll  get 
out  of  the  dinner-pails;  and  if  you  carry  yourself 
handsomely,  you  may  get  a  dinner  invitation  after 
we  get  in.  That  ought  to  tempt  any  man  who 
has  to  live  in  Angels  the  year  round." 

Lidgerwood  marked  the  persistent  plural  of 
the  personal  pronoun,  and  a  great  fear  laid  hold 
upon  him.  None  the  less,  the  president's  invita 
tion  was  a  little  like  the  king's — it  was,  in  some 
sense,  a  command.  Lidgerwood  merely  asked  for 
a  moment's  respite,  and  went  down  to  announce 
his  intention  to  McCloskey  and  Dawson.  Curi 
ously  enough,  the  draftsman  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  ignore  the  private  car.  His  back  was  turned 
upon  it,  and  he  was  glooming  out  across  the  bare 
hills,  with  his  square  jaw  set  as  if  the  ignoring  ef 
fort  were  painful. 

"I'm  going  back  to  Angels  with  the  president," 
said  the  superintendent,  speaking  to  both  of  them. 
"You  can  clean  up  here  without  me." 

221 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

The  trainmaster  nodded,  but  Dawson  seemed 
not  to  have  heard.  At  all  events,  he  made  no  sign. 
Lidgerwood  turned  and  ascended  the  embankment, 
only  to  have  the  sudden  reluctance  assail  him 
again  as  he  put  his  foot  on  the  truck  of  the  Nadia 
to  mount  to  the  platform.  The  hesitation  was 
only  momentary,  this  time.  Other  guests  Mr. 
Brewster  might  have,  without  including  the  one 
person  whom  he  would  circle  the  globe  to 
avoid. 

"Good  boy!"  said  the  president,  when  Lidger 
wood  swung  over  the  high  hand-rail  and  leaned 
out  to  give  Williams  the  starting  signal.  And 
when  the  scene  of  the  wreck  was  withdrawing 
into  the  rearward  distance,  the  president  felt  for 
the  door-knob,  saying:  "Let's  go  inside,  where 
we  shan't  be  obliged  to  see  so  much  of  this 
God-forsaken  country  at  one  time." 

One  half-minute  later  the  superintendent  would 
have  given  much  to  be  safely  back  with  Mc- 
Closkey  and  Dawson  at  the  vanishing  curve  of 
scrap-heaps.  In  that  half-minute  Mr.  Brewster 
had  opened  the  car  door,  and  Lidgerwood  had 
followed  him  across  the  threshold. 

The  comfortable  lounging-room  of  the  Nadia 
was  not  empty;  nor  was  it  peopled  by  a  group  of 
Mr.  Brewster's  associates  in  the  copper  combine, 

222 


The  Pleasurers 

the  alternative  upon  which  Lidgerwood  had  hope 
fully  hung  the  "we's"  and  the  "us's." 

Seated  on  a  wicker  divan  drawn  out  to  face  one 
of  the  wide  side-windows  were  two  young  women, 
with  a  curly-headed,  clean-faced  young  man  be 
tween  them.  A  little  farther  along,  a  rather  aus 
tere  lady,  whose  pose  was  of  calm  superiority  to  her 
surroundings,  looked  up  from  her  magazine  to  say, 
as  her  husband  had  said:  "Why,  Howard!  are 
you  here?"  Just  beyond  the  austere  lady,  and 
dozing  in  his  chair,  was  a  white-haired  man  whose 
strongly  marked  features  proclaimed  him  the 
father  of  one  of  the  young  women  on  the  divan. 

And  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  open  compart 
ment,  facing  each  other  companionably  in  an 
"S  "-shaped  double  chair,  were  two  other  young 
people — a  man  and  a  woman.  .  .  .  Truly,  the 
heavens  had  fallen!  For  the  young  woman  filling 
half  of  the  tete-a-tete  chair  was  that  one  person 
whom  Lidgerwood  would  have  circled  the  globe  to 
avoid  meeting. 


223 


XIII 

BITTER-SWEET 

TAKING  his  cue  from  certain  passages  in  the 
book  of  painful  memories,  Lidgerwood 
meant  to  obey  his  first  impulse,  which  prompted 
him  to  follow  Mr.  Brewster  to  the  private  office 
state-room  in  the  forward  end  of  the  car,  disregard 
ing  the  couple  in  the  tete-a-tete  contrivance.  But 
the  triumphantly  beautiful  young  woman  in  the 
nearer  half  of  the  crooked-backed  seat  would  by 
no  means  sanction  any  such  easy  solution  of  the 
difficulty. 

"Not  a  word  for  me,  Howard?"  she  pro 
tested,  rising  and  fairly  compelling  him  to  stop  and 
speak  to  her.  Then:  "For  pity's  sake!  what 
have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  to  make  you 
look  so  hollow-eyed  and  anxious?"  After  which, 
since  Lidgerwood  seemed  at  a  loss  for  an  answer 
to  the  half-solicitous  query,  she  presented  her 
companion  of  the  "S "-shaped  chair.  "Possibly 
you  will  shake  hands  a  little  less  abstractedly  with 
Mr.  Van  Lew.  Herbert,  this  is  Mr.  Howard  Lidg- 

224 


Bitter-Sweet 

erwood,  my  cousin,  several  times  removed.  He 
is  the  tyrant  of  the  Red  Butte  Western,  and  I  can 
assure  you  that  he  is  much  more  terrible  than  he 
looks — aren't  you,  Howard  ?" 

Lidgerwood  shook  hands  cordially  enough  with 
the  tall  young  athlete  who,  it  seemed,  would  never 
have  done  increasing  his  magnificent  stature  as  he 
rose  up  out  of  his  half  of  the  lounging-seat. 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  I'm  sure," 
said  the  young  man,  gripping  the  given  hand  until 
Lidgerwood  winced.  "Miss  Eleanor  has  been 
telling  me  about  you — marooned  out  here  in  the 
Red  Desert.  By  Jove!  don't  you  know  I  believe 
Fd  like  to  try  it  awhile  myself.  It's  ages  since 
I've  had  a  chance  to  kill  a  man,  and  they  tell 
me " 

Lidgerwood  laughed,  recognizing  Miss  Brew- 
ster's  romancing  gift,  or  the  results  of  it. 

"We  shall  have  to  arrange  a  little  round-up  of 
the  bad  men  from  Bitter  Creek  for  you,  Mr.  Van 
Lew.  I  hope  you  brought  your  armament  along 
—the  regulation  45*5,  and  all  that." 

Miss  Brewster  laughed  derisively. 

"Don't  let  him  discourage  you,  Herbert,"  she 
mocked.  "Bitter  Creek  is  in  Wyoming — or  is  it 
in  Montana?"  this  with  a  quick  little  eye-stab 
for  Lidgerwood,  "and  the  name  of  Mr.  Lidger- 

225 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

wood's  refuge  is  Angels.  Also,  papa  says  there 
is  a  hotel  there  called  the  'Celestial.'  Do  you  live 
at  the  Celestial,  Howard?" 

"No,  I  never  properly  lived  there.  I  existed  there 
for  a  few  weeks  until  Mrs.  Dawson  took  pity  on 
me.  Mrs.  Dawson  is  from  Massachusetts." 

"Hear  him!"  scoffed  Miss  Eleanor,  still  mock 
ing.  "He  says  that  as  if  to  be  'from  Massa 
chusetts'  were  a  patent  of  nobility.  He  knows 
I  had  the  cruel  misfortune  to  be  born  in  Colorado. 
But  tell  me,  Howard,  is  Mrs.  Dawson  a  charming 
young  widow  ?" 

"Mrs.  Dawson  is  a  very  charming  middle-aged 
widow,  with  a  grown  son  and  a  daughter,"  said 
Lidgerwood,  a  little  stiffly.  It  seemed  entirely 
unnecessary  that  she  should  ridicule  him  before 
the  athlete. 

"And  the  daughter — is  she  charming,  too  ?  But 
that  says  itself,  since  she  must  also  date  'from 
Massachusetts."1  Then  to  Van  Lew:  "Every 
one  out  here  in  the  Red  Desert  is  'from'  somewhere, 
you  know." 

"Miss  Dawson  is  quite  beneath  your  definition 
of  charming,  I  imagine,"  was  Lidgerwood's  rather 
crisp  rejoinder;  and  for  the  third  time  he  made 
as  if  he  would  go  on  to  join  the  president  in  the 
office  state-room. 

226 


Bitter-Sweet 

"You  are  staying  to  luncheon  with  us,  aren't 
you  ?"  asked  Miss  Brewster.  "Or  do  you  just  drop 
in  and  out  again,  like  the  other  kind  of  angels  ?" 

"Your  father  commands  me,  and  he  says  I  am 
to  stay.  And  now,  if  you  will  excuse  me — 

This  time  he  succeeded  in  getting  away,  and  up 
to  the  luncheon  hour  talked  copper  and  copper 
prospects  to  Mr.  Brewster  in  the  seclusion  of  the 
president's  office  compartment.  The  call  for  the 
midday  meal  had  been  given  when  Mr.  Brewster 
switched  suddenly  from  copper  to  silver. 

"By  the  way,  there  were  a  few  silver  strikes 
over  in  the  Timanyonis  about  the  time  of  the  Red 
Butte  gold  excitement,"  he  remarked.  "Some 
of  them  have  grown  to  be  shippers,  haven't  they  ?" 

"Only  two,  of  any  importance,"  replied  the 
superintendent:  "the  Ruby,  in  Ruby  Gulch,  and 
Flemister's  Wire-Silver,  at  Little  Butte.  You 
couldn't  call  either  of  them  a  bonanza,  but  they 
are  both  shipping  fair  ore  in  good  quantities." 

"Flemister,"  said  the  president  reflectively. 
"He's  a  character.  Know  him  personally,  How 
ard?" 

"A  little,"  the  superintendent  admitted. 

"A  little  is  a-plenty.  It  wouldn't  pay  you  to 
Tmow  him  very  well,"  laughed  the  big  man  good- 
naturedly.  "He  has  a  somewhat  paralyzing  way 

227 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

of  getting  next  to  you  financially.  I  knew  him  in 
the  old  Leadville  days;  a  born  gentleman,  and 
also  a  born  buccaneer.  If  the  men  he  has  held 
up  and  robbed  were  to  stand  in  a  row,  they'd  fill 
a  Denver  street." 

"He  is  in  his  proper  longitude  out  here,  then," 
said  Lidgerwood  rather  grimly.  "This  is  the 
' hold-up's  heaven/" 

"I'll  bet  Flemister  is  doing  his  share  of  the  loot 
ing,"  laughed  the  president.  "Is  he  alone  in  the 
mine?" 

"I  don't  know  that  he  has  any  partners.  Some 
body  told  me,  when  I  first  came  over  here, 
that  Gridley,  our  master-mechanic,  was  in  with 
him;  but  Gridley  says  that  is  a  mistake — that  he 
thinks  too  much  of  his  reputation  to  be  Flemister's 
partner." 

"Hank  Gridley,"  mused  the  president;  "Hank 
Gridley  and  'his  reputation'!  It  would  certainly 
be  a  pity  if  that  were  to  get  corroded  in  any 
way.  There  is  a  man  who  properly  belongs  to 
the  Stone  Age — what  you  might  call  an  elemental 
scoundrel." 

"You  surprise  me!"  exclaimed  Lidgerwood. 
"I  didn't  like  him  at  first,  but  I  am  convinced  now 
that  it  was  only  unreasoning  prejudice.  He  ap 
peals  to  me  as  being  anything  but  a  scoundrel." 

228 


Bitter-Sweet 

"Well,  perhaps  the  word  is  a  bit  too  savage," 
admitted  Gridley's  accuser.  "What  I  meant  was 
that  he  has  capabilities  that  way,  and  not  much 
moral  restraint.  He  is  the  kind  of  man  to  wade 
through  fire  and  blood  to  gain  his  object,  without 
the  slightest  thought  of  the  consequences  to  others. 
Ever  hear  the  story  of  his  marriage  ?  No  ?  Re 
mind  me  of  it  some  time,  and  I'll  tell  you.  But  we 
were  speaking  of  Flemister.  You  say  the  Wire- 
Silver  has  turned  out  pretty  well  ?" 

"Very  well  indeed,  I  believe.  Flemister  seems 
to  have  money  to  burn." 

"He  always  has,  his  own  or  somebody  else's. 
It  makes  little  difference  to  him.  The  way  he 
got  the  Wire-Silver  would  have  made  Black- Beard 
the  pirate  turn  green  with  envy.  Know  anything 
about  the  history  of  the  mine  ?" 

Lidgerwood  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  I  do;  just  happen  to.  You  know  how  it 
lies — on  the  western  slope  of  Little  Butte  ridge  ?" 

"Yes." 

'That  is  where  it  lies  now.  But  the  original 
openings  were  made  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the 
butte.  They  didn't  pan  out  very  well,  and  Flem 
ister  began  to  look  for  a  victim  to  whom  he  could 
sell.  About  that  time  a  man,  whose  name  I  can 
never  recall,  took  up  a  claim  on  the  western  slope 

229 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

of  the  ridge  directly  opposite  Flemister.  This 
man  struck  it  pretty  rich,  and  Flemister  began  to 
bully  him  on  the  plea  that  the  new  discovery  was 
only  a  continuation  of  his  own  vein  straight  through 
the  hill.  You  can  guess  what  happened." 

"Fairly  well,"  said  Lidgerwood.  "Flemister 
lawed  the  other  man  out." 

"He  did  worse  than  that;  he  drove  straight  into 
the  hill,  past  his  own  lines,  and  actually  took  the 
money  out  of  the  other  man's  mine  to  use  as  a 
fighting  fund.  I  don't  know  how  the  courts  sifted 
it  out,  finally;  I  didn't  follow  it  up  very  closely. 
But  Flemister  put  the  other  man  to  the  wall  in  the 
encj — <put  it  all  over  him,'  as  your  man  Bradford 
would  say.  There  was  some  domestic  tragedy 
involved,  too,  in  which  Flemister  played  the  devil 
with  the  other  man's  family;  but  I  don't  know 
any  of  the  details." 

"Yet  you  say  Flemister  is  a  born  gentleman, 
as  well  as  a  born  buccaneer?" 

"Well,  yes;  he  behaves  himself  well  enough  in 
decent  company.  He  isn't  exactly  the  kind  of 
man  you  can  turn  down  short — he  has  education, 
good  manners,  and  all  that,  you  know;  but  if  he 
were  hard  up  I  shouldn't  let  him  get  within  roping 
distance  of  my  pocket-book,  or,  if  I  had  given  him 
occasion  to  dislike  me,  within  easy  pistol  range." 

230 


Bitter-Sweet 

66  Wherein  he  is  neither  better  nor  worse  than  a 
good  many  others  who  take  the  sunburn  of  the 
Red  Desert,"  was  Lidgerwood's  comment,  and 
just  then  the  waiter  opened  the  door  a  second 
time  to  say  that  luncheon  was  served. 

"Don't  forget  to  remind  me  that  I'm  to  tell  you 
Gridley's  story,  Howard,"  said  the  president, 
rising  out  of  the  depths  of  his  lounging-chair  and 
stripping  off  the  dust-coat,  "  Reads  like  a  romance 
—only  I  fancy  it  was  anything  but  a  romance  for 
poor  Lizzie  Gridley.  Let's  go  and  see  what  the 
cook  has  done  for  us." 

At  luncheon  Lidgerwood  was  made  known  to  the 
other  members  of  the  private-car  party.  The 
white-haired  old  man  who  had  been  dozing  in  his 
chair  was  Judge  Holcombe,  Van  Lew's  uncle 
and  the  father  of  the  prettier  of  the  two  young 
women  who  had  been  entertaining  Jefferis,  the 
curly-headed  collegian.  JefFeris  laughingly  dis 
claimed  relationship  with  anybody;  but  Miss 
Carolyn  Doty,  the  less  pretty  but  more  talkative 
of  the  two  young  women,  confessed  that  she  was  a 
cousin,  twice  removed,  of  Mrs.  Brewster. 

Quite  naturally,  Lidgerwood  sought  to  pair  the 
younger  people  when  the  table  gathering  was  com 
plete,  and  was  not  entirely  certain  of  his  pre 
figuring.  Eleanor  Brewster  and  Van  Lew  sat 

231 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

together  and  were  apparently  absorbed  in  each 
other  to  the  exclusion  of  all  things  extraneous. 
Jefferis  had  Miss  Doty  for  a  companion,  and  the 
affliction  of  her  well-balanced  tongue  seemed 
to  affect  neither  his  appetite  nor  his  enjoyment 
of  what  the  young  woman  had  to  say. 

Miriam  Holcombe  had  fallen  to  Lidgerwood's 
lot,  and  at  first  he  thought  that  her  silence  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  young  Jefferis  had  gotten  upon  the 
wrong  side  of  the  table.  But  after  she  began  to 
talk,  he  changed  his  mind. 

"Tell  me  about  the  wrecked  train  we  passed  a 
little  while  ago,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,"  she  began, 
almost  abruptly.  "Was  any  one  killed  ?" 

"No;  it  was  a  freight,  and  the  crew  escaped. 
It  was  a  rather  narrow  escape,  though,  for  the 
engineer  and  fireman." 

"You  were  putting  it  back  on  the  track  ?"  she 
asked. 

"There  isn't  much  of  it  left  to  put  back,  as  you 
may  have  observed,"  said  Lidgerwood.  Then  he 
told  her  of  the  explosion  and  the  fire. 

She  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  but  afterward 
she  went  on,  half-gropingly  he  thought. 

"Is  that  part  of  your  work— to  get  the  trains  on 
the  track  when  they  run  off?" 

He  laughed.     "I  suppose  it  is — or  at  least,  in  a 

232 


Bitter-Sweet 

certain  sense,  I'm  responsible  for  it.  But  I  am 
lucky  enough  to  have  a  wrecking-boss — two  of 
them,  in  fact,  and  both  good  ones." 

She  looked  up  quickly,  and  he  was  sure  that 
he  surprised  something  more  than  a  passing  in 
terest  in  the  serious  eyes — a  trouble  depth,  he 
would  have  called  it,  had  their  talk  been  any 
thing  more  than  the  ordinary  conventional  table 
exchange. 

"  We  saw  you  go  down  to  speak  to  two  of  your 
men:  one  who  wore  his  hat  pulled  down  over  his 
eyes  and  made  dreadful  faces  at  you  as  he 
talked- 

"That  was  McCloskey,  our  trainmaster,"  he 
cut  in. 

"  And  the  other—  ?" 

"Was  wrecking-boss  Number  Two,"  he  told  her, 
"my  latest  apprentice,  and  a  very  promising  young 
subject.  This  was  his  first  time  out  under  my 
administration,  and  he  put  McCloskey  and  me 
out  of  the  running  at  once." 

"What  did  he  do?"  she  asked,  and  again  he 
saw  the  groping  wistfulness  in  her  eyes,  and  won 
dered  at  it. 

"I  couldn't  explain  it  without  being  unpar- 
donably  technical.  But  perhaps  it  can  best  be 
summed  up  in  saying  that  he  is  a  fine  mechan- 

233 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

ical  engineer  with  the  added  gift  of  knowing  how 
to  handle  men." 

"You  are  generous,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  to — to  a 
subordinate.  He  ought  to  be  very  loyal  to  you." 

"He  is.  And  I  don't  think  of  him  as  a  sub 
ordinate — I  shouldn't  even  if  he  were  on  my 
pay-roll  instead  of  on  that  of  the  motive-power 
department.  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  call  him 
my  friend,  Miss  Holcombe." 

Again  a  few  moments  of  silence,  during  which 
Lidgerwood  was  staring  gloomily  across  at  Miss 
Brewster  and  Van  Lew.  Then  another  curiously 
abrupt  question  from  the  young  woman  at  his  side. 

"His  college,  Mr.  Lidgerwood;  do  you  chance  to 
know  where  he  was  graduated  ?" 

At  another  moment  Lidgerwood  might  have 
wondered  at  the  young  woman's  persistence. 
But  now  Benson's  story  of  Dawson's  terrible 
misfortune  was  crowding  all  purely  speculative 
thoughts  out  of  his  mind. 

"He  took  his  engineering  course  in  Carnegie, 
but  I  believe  he  did  not  stay  through  the  four 
years,"  he  said  gravely. 

Miss  Holcombe  was  looking  down  the  table, 
down  and  across  to  where  her  father  was  sitting, 
at  Mr.  Brewster's  right.  When  she  spoke  again 
the  personal  note  was  gone;  and  after  that  the 

234 


Bitter-Sweet 

talk,  what  there  was  of  it,  was  of  the  sort  that  is 
meant  to  bridge  discomforting  gaps. 

In  the  dispersal  after  the  meal,  Lidgerwood  at 
tached  himself  to  Miss  Doty;  this  in  sheer  self- 
defense.  The  desert  passage  was  still  in  its  earlier 
stages,  and  Miss  Carolyn's  volubility  promised  to 
be  the  less  of  two  evils,  the  greater  being  the  pos 
sibility  that  Eleanor  Brewster  might  seek  to  re 
open  a  certain  spring  of  bitterness  at  which  he  had 
been  constrained  to  drink  deeply  and  miserably  in 
the  past. 

The  self-defensive  expedient  served  its  purpose 
admirably.  For  the  better  part  of  the  desert  run, 
the  president  slept  in  his  state-room,  Mrs.  Brew 
ster  and  the  judge  dozed  in  their  respective  easy- 
chairs,  and  Jefferis  and  Miriam  Holcombe,  after 
roaming  for  an  uneasy  half-hour  from  the  rear 
platform  to  the  cook's  galley  forward,  went  up 
ahead,  at  one  of  the  stops,  to  ride — by  the  su 
perintendent's  permission — in  the  engine  cab  with 
Williams.  Miss  Brewster  and  Van  Lew  were  ab 
sorbed  in  a  book  of  plays,  and  their  corner  of  the 
large,  open  compartment  was  the  one  farthest  re 
moved  from  the  double  divan  which  Lidgerwood 
had  chosen  for  Miss  Carolyn  and  himself. 

Later,  Van  Lew  rolled  a  cigarette  and  went  to 
the  smoking-compartment,  which  was  in  the  for- 

235 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

ward  end  of  the  car;  and  when  next  Lidgerwood 
broke  Miss  Doty's  eye-hold  upon  him,  Miss  Brew- 
ster  had  also  disappeared — into  her  state-room, 
as  he  supposed.  Taking  this  as  a  sign  of  his  re 
lease,  he  gently  broke  the  thread  of  Miss  Caro 
lyn's  inquisitiveness,  and  went  out  to  the  rear  plat 
form  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air  and  surcease  from 
the  fashery  of  a  neatly  balanced  tongue. 

When  it  was  quite  too  late  to  retreat,  he  found 
the  deep-recessed  observation  platform  of  the 
Nadia  occupied.  Miss  Brewster  was  not  in  her 
state-room,  as  he  had  mistakenly  persuaded  him 
self.  She  was  sitting  in  one  of  the  two  platform 
camp-chairs,  and  she  was  alone. 

"  I  thought  you  would  come,  if  I  only  gave  you 
time  enough,"  she  said,  quite  coolly.  "Did  you 
find  Carolyn  very  persuasive?" 

He  ignored  the  query  about  Miss  Doty,  replying 
only  to  the  first  part  of  her  speech. 

"I  thought  you  had  gone  to  your  state-room. 
I  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  that  you  were  out 
here." 

"Otherwise  you  would  not  have  come?  How 
magnificently  churlish  you  can  be,  upon  occasion, 
Howard!" 

"It  doesn't  deserve  so  hard  a  name,"  he  re 
joined  patiently.  "For  the  moment  I  am  your 

236 


Bitter-Sweet 

father's  guest,  and  when  he  asked  me  to  go  to 
Angels  with  him— 

—"He  didn't  tell  you  that  mamma  and  Judge 
Holcombe  and  Carolyn  and  Miriam  and  Herbert 
and  Geof.  Jefferis  and  I  were  along,"  she  cut  in 
maliciously.  "Howard,  don't  you  know  you  are 
positively  spiteful,  at  times!" 

"No,"  he  denied. 

"Don't  contradict  me,  and  don't  be  silly."  She 
pushed  the  other  chair  toward  him.  "Sit  down 
and  tell  me  how  you've  been  enduring  the  interval. 
It  is  more  than  a  year,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes.  A  year,  three  months,  and  eleven  days." 
He  had  taken  the  chair  beside  her  because  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  else  to  do. 

"How  mathematically  exact  you  are!"  she 
gibed.  "To-morrow  it  will  be  a  year,  three 
months,  and  twelve  days;  and  the  day  after  to 
morrow — mercy  me!  I  should  go  mad  if  I  had  to 
think  back  and  count  up  that  way  every  day.  But 
I  asked  you  what  you  had  been  doing." 

He  spread  his  hands.  "Existing,  one  way  and 
another.  There  has  always  been  my  work." 

' t  All  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy, ' ' 
she  quoted.  "You  are  excessively  dull  to-day, 
Howard.  Hasn't  it  occurred  to  you  ?" 

"Thank  you  for  expressing  it  so  delicately.     It 

237 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

seems  to  be  my  misfortune  to  disappoint  you, 
always." 

uYes,"  she  said,  quite  unfeelingly.  Then,  with 
a  swift  relapse  into  pure  mockery:  "How  many 
times  have  you  fallen  in  love  during  the  one  year, 
three  months,  and  eleven  days  ?" 

His  frown  was  almost  a 'scowl.  "Is  it  worth 
while  to  make  an  unending  jest  of  it,  Eleanor  ?" 

"A  jest  ? — of  your  falling  in  love  ?  No,  my  dear 
cousin,  several  times  removed,  no  one  would  dare 
to  jest  with  you  on  that  subject.  But  tell  me;  I 
am  really  and  truly  interested.  Will  you  confess 
to  three  times  ?  That  isn't  so  very  many,  consid 
ering  the  length  of  the  interval." 

"No." 

"Twice,  then?  Think  hard;  there  must  have 
been  at  least  two  little  quickenings  of  the  heart 
beats  in  all  that  time." 

"No." 

"Still  no  ?  That  reduces  it  to  one — the  charm 
ing  Miss  Dawson— 

"You  might  spare  her,  even  if  you  are  not  willing 
to  spare  me.  You  know  well  enough  there  has 
never  been  any  one  but  you,  Eleanor;  that  there 
never  will  be  any  one  but  you." 

The  train  was  passing  the  western  confines  of  the 
waterless  tract,  and  a  cool  breeze  from  the  snow- 

238 


Bitter-Sweet 

capped  Timanyonis  was  sweeping  across  the  open 
platform.  It  blew  strands  of  the  red-brown  hair 
from  beneath  the  closely  fitting  travelling-hat; 
blew  color  into  Miss  Brewster's  cheeks  and  a 
daring  brightness  into  the  laughing  eyes. 

"What  a  pity!"   she  said  in  mock  sympathy. 

"That  I  can't  measure  up  to  your  requirements 
of  the  perfect  man  ?  Yes,  it  is  a  thousand  pities," 
he  agreed. 

"No;  that  isn't  precisely  what  I  meant.  The 
pity  is  that  I  seem  to  you  to  be  unable  to  appreci 
ate  your  many  excellencies  and  your — constancy." 

"I  think  you  were  born  to  torment  me,"  he  re 
joined  gloomily.  "Why  did  you  come  out  here 
with  your  father  ?  You  must  have  known  that  I 
was  here." 

"Not  from  any  line  you  have  ever  written,"  she 
retorted.  "Alicia  Ford  told  me,  otherwise  I 
shouldn't  have  known." 

"Still,  you  came.     Why  ?     Were  you  curious  ?" 

"Why  should  I  be  curious,  and  what  about? 
— the  Red  Desert  ?  I've  seen  deserts  before." 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  curious  to  know  what 
disposition  the  Red  Desert  was  making  of  such  a 
failure  as  I  am,"  he  said  evenly.  "I  can  forgive 
that  more  easily  than  I  can  forgive  your  bringing 
of  the  other  man  along  to  be  an  on-looker." 

239 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"  Herbert,  you  mean  ?  He  is  a  good  boy,  a 
nice  boy — and  perfectly  harmless.  You'll  like 
him  immensely  when  you  come  to  know  him 
better." 

"  You  like  him  ?"   he  queried. 

"How  can  you  ask — when  you  have  just  called 
him  'the  other  man'  ?" 

Lidgerwood  turned  in  his  chair  and  faced  her 
squarely. 

"Eleanor,  I  had  my  punishment  over  a  year  ago, 
and  I  have  been  hoping  you  would  let  it  suffice.  It 
was  hard  enough  to  lose  you  without  being  com 
pelled  to  stand  by  and  see  another  man  win  you. 
Can't  you  understand  that?" 

She  did  not  answer  him.  Instead,  she  whipped 
aside  from  that  phase  of  the  subject  to  ask  a  ques 
tion  of  her  own. 

"What  ever  made  you  come  out  here,  Howard  ?" 

'To  the  superintendency  of  the  Red  Butte 
Western  ?  You  did." 

"I  ?" 

"Yes,  you." 

"It  is  ridiculous!" 

"It  is  true." 

"Prove  it — if  you  can;   but  you  can't." 

"I  am  proving  it  day  by  day,  or  trying  to.  I 
didn't  want  to  come,  but  you  drove  me  to  it." 

240 


Bitter-Sweet 

"I  decline  to  take  any  such  hideous  responsi 
bility,"  she  laughed  lightly.  "  There  must  have 
been  some  better  reason;  Miss  Dawson,  perhaps." 

"Quite  likely,  barring  the  small  fact  that  I 
didn't  know  there  was  a  Miss  Dawson  until  I  had 
been  a  month  in  Angels." 

"Oh!"  she  said  half  spitefully.  And  then, 
with  calculated  malice,  "  Howard,  if  you  were  only 
as  brave  as  you  are  clever!  .  .  .  Why  can't  you  be 
a  man  and  strike  back  now  and  then  ?" 

"Strike  back  at  the  woman  I  love?  I'm  not 
quite  down  to  that,  I  hope,  even  if  I  was  once  too 
cowardly  to  strike  for  her." 

"Always  that!   Why  won't  you  let  me  forget  ?  " 

"Because  you  must  not  forget.  Listen:  two 
weeks  ago — only  two  weeks  ago — one  of  the 
Angels — er — peacemakers  stood  up  in  his  place 
and  shot  at  me.  What  I  did  made  me  under 
stand  that  I  had  gained  nothing  in  a  year." 

"Shot  at  you  ?"  she  echoed,  and  now  he  might 
have  discovered  a  note  of  real  concern  in  her  tone 
if  his  ear  had  been  attuned  to  hear  it.  "Tell  me 
about  it.  Who  was  it  ?  and  why  did  he  shoot  at 
you?" 

His  answer  seemed  to  be  indirection  itself. 

"  How  long  do  you  expect  to  stay  in  Angels  and 
its  vicinity  ?"  he  asked. 

241 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"I  don't  know.  This  is  partly  a  pleasure  trip 
for  us  younger  folk.  Father  was  coming  out  alone, 
and  I — that  is,  mamma  decided  to  come  and  make 
a  car-party  of  it.  We  may  stay  two  or  three  weeks, 
if  the  others  wish  it.  But  you  haven't  answered 
me.  I  want  to  know  who  the  man  was,  and  why 
he  shot  at  you." 

"Exactly;  and  you  have  answered  yourself.  If 
you  stay  two  weeks,  or  two  days,  in  Angels  you  will 
doubtless  hear  all  you  care  to  about  my  troubles. 
When  the  town  isn't  talking  about  what  it  is  going 
to  do  to  me,  it  is  gossiping  about  the  dramatic  ar 
rest  of  my  would-be  assassin." 

"You  are  most  provoking!"  she  declared. 
"Did  you  make  the  arrest?" 

"Don't  shame  me  needlessly;  of  course  I  didn't. 
One  of  our  locomotive  engineers,  a  man  whom  I 
had  discharged  for  drunkenness,  was  the  hero.  It 
was  a  most  daring  thing.  The  desperado  is 
known  in  the  Red  Desert  as  'The  Killer,'  and  he 
has  had  the  entire  region  terrorized  so  completely 
that  the  town  marshal  of  Angels,  a  man  who  has 
never  before  shirked  his  duty,  refused  to  serve  the 
warrant.  Judson,  the  engineer,  made  the  capture 
— took  the  'terror'  from  his  place  in  a  gambling- 
den,  disarmed  him,  and  brought  him  in.  Judson 
himself  was  unarmed,  and  he  did  the  trick  with  a 

242 


Bitter-Sweet 

little  steel  wrench  such  as  engineers  use  about  a 
locomotive." 

Miss  Brewster,  being  Colorado-born,  was  deeply 
interested. 

"Now  you  are  no  longer  dull,  Howard!"  she 
exclaimed.  "Tell  me  in  words  just  how  Mr.  Jud- 
son  did  it." 

"It  was  an  old  dodge,  so  old  that  it  seemed  new  to 
everybody.  As  I  told  you,  Judson  was  discharged 
for  drunkenness.  All  Angels  knows  him  for  a 
fighter  to  the  finish  when  he  is  sober,  and  for  the 
biggest  fool  and  the  most  harmless  one  when  he  is 
in  liquor.  He  took  advantage  of  this,  reeled  into 
the  gambling-place  as  if  he  were  too  drunk  to  see 
straight,  played  the  fool  till  he  got  behind  his  man 
—after  which  the  matter  simplified  itself.  Rufford, 
the  desperado,  had  no  means  of  knowing  that  the 
cold  piece  of  metal  Judson  was  pressing  against  his 
back  was  not  the  muzzle  of  a  loaded  revolver,  and 
he  had  every  reason  for  supposing  that  it  was; 
hence,  he  did  all  the  things  Judson  told  him  to  do." 

Miss  Eleanor  did  not  need  to  vocalize  her  ap 
proval  of  Judson;  the  dark  eyes  were  alight  with 
excitement. 

"How  fine!"  she  applauded.  "Of  course,  after 
that,  you  took  Mr.  Judson  back  into  the  railway 
service  ?" 

243 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Indeed,  I  did  nothing  of  the  sort;  nor  shall  I, 
until  he  demonstrates  that  he  means  what  he  says 
about  letting  the  whiskey  alone." 

ft Until   he   demonstrates' — don't   be   so   cold 
blooded,  Howard!     Possibly  he  saved  your  life." 

"Quite  probably.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do 
with  his  reinstatement  as  an  engineer  of  passenger- 
trains.  It  would  be  much  better  for  Rufford  to 
kill  me  than  for  me  to  let  Judson  have  the  chance 
to  kill  a  train-load  of  innocent  people." 

"And  yet,  a  few  moments  ago,  you  called  your 
self  a  coward,  cousin  mine.  Could  you  really  face 
such  an  alternative  without  flinching?" 

"It  doesn't  appeal  to  me  as  a  question  involving 
any  special  degree  of  courage,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I 
am  a  great  coward,  Eleanor — not  a  little  one,  I 
hope." 

"It  doesn't  appeal  to  you? — dear  God!"  she 
said.  "And  I  have  been  calling  you  .  .  .  but 
would  you  do  it,  Howard  ?" 

He  smiled  at  her  sudden  earnestness. 

"  How  generous  your  heart  is,  Eleanor,  when  you 
let  it  speak  for  itself!  If  you  will  promise  not  to 
let  it  change  your  opinion  of  me — you  shouldn't 
change  it,  you  know,  for  I  am  the  same  man  whom 
you  held  up  to  scorn  the  day  we  parted — if  you  will 
promise,  I'll  tell  you  that  for  weeks  I  have  gone 

244 


Bitter-Sweet 

about  with  my  life  in  my  hands,  knowing  it.  It 
hasn't  required  any  great  amount  of  courage;  it 
merely  comes  along  in  the  line  of  my  plain  duty  to 
the  company — it's  one  of  the  things  I  draw  my 
salary  for." 

"You  haven't  told  me  why  this  desperado 
wanted  to  kill  you — why  you  are  in  such  a  deep 
sea  of  trouble  out  here,  Howard/'  she  reminded 
him. 

"No;  it  is  a  long  story,  and  it  would  bore  you  if 
I  had  time  to  tell  it.  And  I  haven't  time,  be 
cause  that  is  Williams's  whistle  for  the  Angels 
yard." 

He  had  risen  and  was  helping  his  companion  to 
her  feet  when  Mrs.  Brewster  came  to  the  car  door 
to  say: 

"Oh,  you  are  out  here,  are  you,  Howard  ?  I 
was  looking  for  you  to  let  you  know  that  we  dine 
in  the  Nadia  at  seven.  If  your  duties  will 
permit— 

Lidgerwood's  refusal  was  apologetic  but  firm. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Cousin  Jessica,"  he  protested. 
"  But  I  left  a  deskful  of  stuff  when  I  ran  away  to 
the  wreck  this  morning,  and  really  I'm  afraid  I 
shall  have  to  beg  off." 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  dreadfully  formal!"  said  the 
president's  wife  impatiently.  "  You  are  a  member 

245 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

of  the  family,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  say 
bluntly  that  you  can't  come,  and  then  come  when 
ever  you  can  while  we  are  here.  Carolyn  Doty  is 
dying  to  ask  you  a  lot  more  questions  about  the 
Red  Desert.  She  confided  to  me  that  you  were  the 
most  interesting  talker- 
Miss  Eleanor's  interruption  was  calculated  to 
temper  the  passed-on  praise. 

"He  has  been  simply  boring  me  to  death, 
mamma,  until  just  a  few  minutes  ago.  I  shall  tell 
Carolyn  that  she  is  too  easily  pleased." 

Mrs.  Brewster,  being  well  used  to  Eleanor's  flip 
pancies,  paid  no  attention  to  her  daughter. 

"You  will  come  to  us  whenever  you  can,  How 
ard;  that  is  understood,"  she  said.  And  so  the 
social  matter  rested. 

Lidgerwood  was  half-way  down  the  platform  of 
the  Crow's  Nest,  heading  for  his  office  and  the 
neglected  desk,  when  Williams's  engine  came 
backing  through  one  of  the  yard  tracks  on  its  way 
to  the  roundhouse.  At  the  moment  of  its  passing, 
a  little  man  with  his  cap  pulled  over  his  eyes 
dropped  from  the  gangway  step  and  lounged 
across  to  the  head-quarters  building. 

It  was  Judson;  and  having  seen  him  last  toiling 
away  man-fashion  at  the  wreck  in  the  Crosswater 
Hills,  Lidgerwood  hailed  him. 

246 


Bitter-Sweet 

"  Hello,  Judson !  How  did  you  get  here  ?  I 
thought  you  were  doing  a  turn  with  McCloskey." 

The  small  man's  grin  was  ferocious. 

"I  was,  but  Mac  said  he  didn't  have  any  further 
use  for  me — said  I  was  too  much  of  a  runt  to  be 
liftin'  and  pullin'  along  with  growed-up  men.  I 
came  down  with  Williams  on  the  '66." 

Lidgerwood  turned  away.  He  remembered  his 
reluctant  consent  to  McCloskey's  proposal  touch 
ing  the  espial  upon  Hallock,  and  was  sorry  he  had 
given  it.  It  was  too  late  to  recall  it  now;  but 
neither  by  word  nor  look  did  the  superintendent 
intimate  to  the  discharged  engineer  that  he  knew 
why  McCloskey  had  sent  him  back  to  Angels  on 
the  engine  of  the  president's  special. 


247 


XIV 

BLIND    SIGNALS 

LIDGERWOOD  was  not  making  the  con 
ventional  excuse  when  he  gave  the  deskful 
of  work  as  a  reason  for  not  accepting  the  invita 
tion  to  dine  with  the  president's  party  in  the 
Nadia.  Being  the  practical  as  well  as  the  nom 
inal  head  of  the  Red  Butte  line,  and  the  only 
official  with  complete  authority  west  of  Copah, 
his  daily  mail  was  always  heavy,  and  during  his 
frequent  absences  the  accumulations  stored  up 
work  for  every  spare  hour  he  could  devote  to  it. 

It  was  this  increasing  clerical  burden  which  had 
led  him  to  ask  the  general  manager  for  a  stenog 
rapher,  and  during  one  of  the  later  absences  the 
young  man  had  come — a  rapid,  capable  young 
fellow  with  the  gift  of  knowing  how  to  make 
himself  indispensable  to  a  superior,  coupled  with 
the  ability  to  take  care  of  much  of  the  routine 
correspondence  without  specific  instructions,  and 
with  a  disposition  to  be  loyal  to  his  salt. 

248 


Blind  Signals 

Climbing  the  stair  to  his  office  on  the  second 
floor  of  the  Crow's  Nest  after  the  brief  exchange 
of  question  and  answer  with  Judson,  Lidgerwood 
found  his  new  helper  hard  at  work  grinding 
through  the  day's  train  mail. 

"Don't  scamp  your  meals,  Grady,"  was  his 
greeting  to  the  stenographer,  as  he  opened  his 
own  desk.  "This  is  a  pretty  busy  shop,  but  it 
is  well  to  remember  that  there  is  always  an 
other  day  coming,  and  if  there  isn't,  it  won't 
make  any  difference  how  much  or  how  little  is 
left  undone." 

"  Colgan  wired  that  you  were  on  Mr.  Brewster's 
special,  and  I  was  waiting  on  the  chance  that 
you  might  want  to  rush  something  through  when 
you  got  in,"  returned  the  young  Irishman,  reach 
ing  mechanically  for  his  note-book. 

"  I  shall  want  to  rush  a  lot  of  it  through  after  a 
while,  but  you'd  better  go  and  get  your  supper 
now  and  come  back  fresh  for  it,"  said  the  super 
intendent,  who  was  always  humane  to  every  one 
but  himself.  "Was  there  anything  special  in  to 
day's  mail?" 

"Only  this,"  turning  up  a  letter  marked  "Im 
mediate"  and  bearing  the  cancellation  stamp  of 
the  postal  car  which  had  passed  eastward  on 
Train  202. 

249 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Lidgerwood  read  the  marked  letter  twice  before 
he  placed  it  face  down  in  the  "unanswered" 
basket.  It  was  from  Flemister,  and  it  called  for 
a  decision  which  the  superintendent  was  willing  to 
postpone  for  the  moment.  After  he  had  read 
thoughtfully  through  everything  else  on  the  wait 
ing  list,  he  took  up  the  mine-owner's  letter 
again.  All  things  considered,  it  was  a  little  puz 
zling.  He  had  not  seen  Flemister  since  the  day  of 
the  rather  spiteful  conversation,  with  the  building- 
and-loan  theft  for  a  topic,  and  on  that  occasion 
the  mine-owner  had  gone  away  with  threats  in  his 
mouth.  Yet  his  letter  was  distinctly  friendly,  con 
veying  an  offer  of  neighborly  help. 

The  occasion  for  the  neighborliness  arose  upon 
a  right-of-way  involvement.  Acting  under  in 
structions  from  Vice-President  Ford,  Lidgerwood 
had  already  begun  to  move  in  the  matter  of  ex 
tending  the  Red  Butte  Western  toward  the  Ne 
vada  gold-fields,  and  Benson  had  been  running 
preliminary  surveys  and  making  estimates  of  cost. 
Of  the  two  more  feasible  routes,  that  which  left 
the  main  line  at  Little  Butte,  turning  southward 
up  the  Wire-Silver  gulch,  had  been  favorably  re 
ported  on  by  the  engineer.  The  right  of  way  over 
this  route,  save  for  a  few  miles  through  an  upland 
valley  of  cattle  ranches,  could  be  acquired  from 

250 


Blind  Signals 

the  government,  and  among  the  ranch  owners  only 
one  was  disposed  to  fight  the  coming  of  the  rail 
road — for  a  purely  mercenary  purpose,  Benson 
declared. 

It  was  about  this  man,  James  Grofield,  that 
Flemister  wrote.  The  ranchman,  so  the  letter 
stated,  had  passed  through  Little  Butte  early  in 
the  day,  on  his  way  to  Red  Butte.  He  would  be 
returning  by  the  accommodation  late  in  the  after 
noon,  and  would  stop  at  the  Wire-Silver  mine, 
where  he  had  stabled  his  horses.  For  some  reason 
he  had  taken  a  dislike  to  Benson,  but  if  Lidger- 
wood  could  make  it  convenient  to  come  over  to 
Little  Butte  on  the  evening  passenger-train  from 
Angels,  the  writer  of  the  letter  would  arrange  to 
keep  Grofield  over-night,  and  the  right-of-way 
matter  could  doubtless  be  settled  satisfactorily. 

This  was  the  substance  of  the  mine-owner's 
letter,  and  if  Lidgerwood  hesitated  it  was  partly 
because  he  was  suspicious  of  Flemister's  sudden 
friendliness.  Then  the  motive — Flemister's  mo 
tive — suggested  itself,  and  the  suspicion  was  put 
to  sleep.  The  Wire-Silver  mine  was  five  miles 
distant  from  the  main  line  at  Little  Butte,  at  the 
end  of  a  spur;  if  the  extension  should  be  built,  it 
would  be  a  main-line  station,  with  all  the  advan 
tages  accruing  therefrom.  Flemister  was  merely 

251 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

putting  the  personal  animosities  aside  for  a  good 
and  sufficient  business  reason. 

Lidgerwood  looked  at  his  watch.  If  Grady 
should  not  be  gone  too  long,  he  might  be  able  to 
work  through  the  pile  of  correspondence  and  get 
away  on  the  evening  passenger;  and  when  the 
stenographer  came  back  the  work  was  attacked 
with  that  end  in  view.  But  after  an  hour's  rapid 
dictating,  a  long-drawn  whistle  signal  announced 
the  incoming  of  the  train  he  was  trying  to  make 
and  warned  him  that  the  race  against  time  had 
failed. 

"It's  no  use;  we'll  have  to  make  two  bites  of 
it,"  he  said  to  Grady,  and  then  he  left  his  desk  to 
go  downstairs  for  a  breathing  moment  and  the 
cup  of  coffee  which  he  meant  to  substitute  for  the 
dinner  which  the  lack  of  time  had  made  him 
forego. 

Train  205,  the  train  Flemister  had  suggested 
that  he  might  take,  was  just  pulling  in  from  the 
long  run  across  the  desert  when  he  reached  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  That  it  was  too  late  to  take  this 
means  of  reaching  Little  Butte  and  the  Wire-Silver 
mine  was  a  small  matter;  it  merely  meant  that  he 
would  be  obliged  to  order  out  the  service-car  and 
go  special,  if  he  should  finally  decide  to  act  upon 
Flemister's  suggestion. 

252 


Blind  Signals 

Angels  being  a  meal  station,  there  was  a  twenty- 
minute  stop  for  all  trains,  and  the  passengers  from 
205  were  crowding  the  platform  and  hurrying  to 
the  dining-room   and  lunch-counter  when  Lidger- 
wood  made  his  way  to  the  station  end  of  the  build 
ing.     In  the  men's  room,  whither  he  went  to  order 
his  cup  of  coffee,   there  was  a  mixed  throng  of 
travellers,  with  a  sprinkling  of  trainmen  and  town 
idlers,  among  the  latter  a  number  of  the  lately  dis 
charged  railroad  employees.     Lidgerwood  marked 
a  group  of  the  trouble-makers  withdrawing  to  a 
corner  of  the  room  as  he  entered,  and  while  the 
waiter  was  serving  his  coffee,  he  saw  Hallock  join 
the  group.     It  was  only  a  straw,  but  straws  are 
significant    when    the    wind    is    blowing    from    a 
threatening  quarter.     Once  again  Lidgerwood  re 
membered   McCloskey's   proposal,    and    his   own 
reluctant  assent   to   it,  and  now  he  was  not  too 
greatly  conscience-stricken  when  he  saw  Judson 
quietly  working  his  way  through  the  crowded  room 
to  a  point  of  espial  upon  the  group  in  the  corner. 

"Your  coffee's  getting  cold,  Mr.  Lidgerwood," 
the  man  behind  the  counter  warned  him,  and 
Lidgerwood  whirled  around  on  the  pivot  stool 
and  turned  his  back  upon  the  malcontents  and 
their  watcher.  The  keen  inner  sense,  which 
neither  the  physiologists  nor  the  psychologists 

253 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

have  yet  been  able  to  define  or  to  name,  apprised 
him  of  a  threat  developing  in  the  distant  corner, 
but  he  resolutely  ignored  it,  drank  his  coffee,  and 
presently  went  his  way  around  the  peopled  end  of 
the  building  and  back  to  the  office  entrance, 
meaning  to  go  above  stairs  and  put  in  another 
hour  with  Grady  before  he  should  decide  defi 
nitely  about  making  the  night  run  to  Little  Butte. 

His  foot  was  on  the  threshold  of  the  stairway 
door  when  Judson  overtook  him. 

"Mac  told  me  to  report  to  you  when  I  couldn't 
get  at  him,"  the  ex-engineman  began  abruptly. 
:<  There's  something  hatching,  but  I  can't  find  out 
what  it  is.  Are  you  thinking  about  goin'  out  on 
the  road  anywhere  to-night,  Mr.  Lidgerwood  ?" 

Lidgerwood's  decision  was  taken  on  the  instant. 

"Yes;  I  think  I  shall  go  west  in  my  car  in  an 
hour  or  so.  Why  ?" 

"There  ain't  any  'why,'  I  guess,  if  you  feel  like 
goin'.  But  what  I  don't  savvy  is  why  them  fellows 
back  yonder  in  the  waitin'-room  are  so  dead 
anxious  to  find  out  if  you  are  goin'." 

As  he  spoke,  a  man  who  had  been  skulking 
behind  a  truck-load  of  express  freight,  so  near 
that  he  could  have  touched  either  of  them  with  an 
out-stretched  arm,  withdrew  silently  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  lunch-room.  He  was  a  tall  man  with 

254 


Blind  Signals 

stooping  shoulders,  and  his  noiseless  retreat  was 
cautiously  made,  yet  not  quite  cautiously  enough, 
since  Judson's  sharp  eyes  marked  the  shuffling 
figure  vanishing  in  the  shadow  cast  by  the  over 
hanging  shelter  roof  of  the  station. 

"By  cripes! — look  at  that,  will  you?"  he  ex 
claimed,  pointing  to  the  retreating  figure.  "That's 
Hallock,  and  he  was  listening!" 

Lidgerwood  shook  his  head. 

"No,  that  isn't  Hallock,"  he  denied.  And  then, 
with  a  bit  of  the  man-driving  rasp  in  his  voice: 
"See  here,  Judson,  don't  you  let  McCloskey's 
prejudices  run  away  with  you;  make  a  memoran 
dum  of  that  and  paste  it  in  your  hat.  I  know 
what  you  have  been  instructed  to  do,  and  I  have 
given  my  consent,  but  it  is  with  the  understanding 
that  you  will  be  at  least  as  fair  as  you  would  be  if 
McCloskey's  bias  happened  to  run  the  other  way. 
I  don't  want  you  to  make  a  case  against  Hallock 
unless  you  can  get  proof  positive  that  he  is  disloyal 
to  the  company  and  to  me;  and  I'll  tell  you  here 
and  now  that  I  shall  be  much  better  pleased  if  you 
can  bring  me  the  assurance  that  he  is  a  true  man." 

"But  that  was  Hallock,"  insisted  Judson,  "or 
else  it  was  his  livin'  double." 

"No;  follow  him  and  you'll  see  for  yourself.  It 
was  more  like  that  Ruby  Gulch  operator  who  quit 

255 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

in  a  quarrel  with  McCloskey  a  week  or  two  ago. 
What  is  his  name  ? — Sheffield." 

Judson  hastened  down  the  platform  to  satisfy 
himself,  and  Lidgerwood  mounted  the  stair  to  his 
office.  Grady  was  still  pounding  the  keys  of  the 
type-writer  on  the  batch  of  letters  given  him  in  the 
busy  hour  following  his  return  from  supper,  and 
the  superintendent  turned  his  back  upon  the  click 
ing  activities  and  went  to  stand  at  the  window, 
from  which  he  could  look  down  upon  the  plat 
form  with  the  waiting  passenger-train  drawn  up 
beside  it. 

Seeing  the  cheerful  lights  in  the  side-tracked 
Nadia,  he  fell  to  thinking  of  Eleanor,  opening  the 
door  of  conscious  thought  to  her  and  saying  to  him 
self  that  she  was  never  more  than  a  single  step 
beyond  the  threshold  of  that  door.  Looking 
across  to  the  Nadia,  he  knew  now  why  he  had 
hesitated  so  long  before  deciding  to  go  on  the  night 
trip  to  Timanyoni  Park.  Chilled  hearts  follow 
the  analogy  of  cold  hands.  When  the  fire  is  near, 
a  man  will  go  and  spread  his  fingers  to  the  blaze, 
though  he  may  be  never  so  well  assured  that  they 
will  ache  for  it  afterward. 

But  with  this  thought  came  another  and  a  more 
manly  one — the  woman  he  loved  was  in  Angels, 
and  she  would  doubtless  remain  in  Angels  or  its 

256 


Blind  Signals 

immediate  vicinity  for  some  time;  that  was  un- 
preventable;  but  he  could  still  resolve  that  there 
should  not  be  a  repetition  of  the  old  tragedy  of 
the  moth  and  the  candle.  It  was  well  that  at  the 
very  outset  a  duty  call  had  come  to  enable  him  to 
break  the  spell  of  her  nearness,  and  it  was  also 
well  that  he  had  decided  not  to  disregard  it. 

The  train  conductor's  "All  aboard!"  shouted 
on  the  platform  just  below  his  window,  drew  his 
attention  from  the  Nadia  and  the  distracting 
thought  of  Eleanor's  nearness.  Train  205  was 
ready  to  resume  its  westward  flight,  and  the  loco 
motive  bell  was  clanging  musically.  A  half-grown 
moon,  hanging  low  in  the  black  dome  of  the  night, 
yellowed  the  glow  of  the  platform  incandescents. 
The  last  few  passengers  were  hurrying  up  the  steps 
of  the  cars,  and  the  conductor  was  swinging  his 
lantern  in  the  starting  signal  for  the  engineer. 

At  the  critical  moment,  when  the  train  was  fairly 
in  motion,  Lidgerwood  saw  Hallock — it  was  un 
mistakably  Hallock  this  time — spring  from  the 
shadow  of  a  baggage-truck  and  whip  up  to  the  step 
of  the  smoker,  and  a  scant  half-second  later  he 
saw  Judson  race  across  the  wide  platform  and 
throw  himself  like  a  self-propelled  projectile  against 
and  through  the  closing  doors  of  the  vestibule  at 
the  forward  end  of  the  sleeper. 

257 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Judson's  dash  and  his  capture  of  the  out-going 
train  were  easily  accounted  for:  he  had  seen  Hal- 
lock.  But  where  was  Hallock  going  ?  Lidger- 
wood  was  still  asking  himself  the  question  half- 
abstractedly  when  he  crossed  to  his  desk  and 
touched  the  buzzer-push  which  summoned  an 
operator  from  the  despatcher's  room. 

"Wire  Mr.  Pennington  Flemister,  care  of 
Goodloe,  at  Little  Butte,  that  I  am  coming  out 
with  my  car,  and  should  be  with  him  by  eleven 
o'clock.  Then  call  up  the  yard  office  and  tell 
Matthews  to  let  me  have  the  car  and  engine  by 
eight-thirty,  sharp,"  he  directed. 

The  operator  made  a  note  of  the  order  and  went 
out,  and  the  superintendent  settled  himself  in  his 
desk-chair  for  another  hour's  hard  work  with  the 
stenographer.  At  twenty-five  minutes  past  eight 
he  heard  the  wheel-grindings  of  the  up-coming 
service-car,  and  the  weary  short-hand  man  snapped 
a  rubber  band  upon  the  notes  of  the  final  letter. 

"That's  all  for  to-night,  Grady,  and  it's  quite 
enough,"  was  the  superintendent's  word  of  re 
lease.  "I'm  sorry  to  have  to  work  you  so  late, 
but  I'd  like  to  have  those  letters  written  out  and 
mailed  before  you  lock  up.  Are  you  good  for  it  ?" 

"I'm  good  for  anything  you  say,  Mr.  Lidger- 
wood,"  was  the  response  of  the  one  who  was  loyal 

258 


Blind  Signals 

to  his  salt,  and  the  superintendent  put  on  his  light 
coat  and  went  out  and  down  the  stair. 

At  the  outer  door  he  turned  up  the  long  plat 
form,  instead  of  down,  and  walked  quickly  to  the 
Nadta,  persuading  himself  that  he  must,  in  com 
mon  decency,  tell  the  president  that  he  was  going 
away;  persuading  himself  that  it  was  this,  and  not 
at  all  the  desire  to  warm  his  hands  at  the  ungrate 
ful  fire  of  Eleanor's  mockery,  that  was  making  him 
turn  his  back  for  the  moment  upon  the  waiting 
special  train. 


259 


XV 

ELEANOR   INTERVENES 

THE  president's  private  car  was  side-tracked 
on  the  short  spur  at  the  eastern  end  of  the 
Crow's  Nest,  and  when  Lidgerwood  reached  it  he 
found  the  observation  platform  fully  occupied. 
The  night  was  no  more  than  pleasantly  cool,  and 
the  half-grown  moon,  which  was  already  dipping 
to  its  early  extinguishment  behind  the  upreared 
bulk  of  the  Timanyonis,  struck  out  stark  etchings 
in  silver  and  blackest  shadow  upon  a  ground  of 
fallow  dun  and  vanishing  grays.  On  such  nights 
the  mountain  desert  hides  its  forbidding  face,  and 
the  potent  spell  of  the  silent  wilderness  had  drawn 
the  young  people  of  the  Nadias  party  to  the  out 
door  trysting-place. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  is  that  you?"  called 
Van  Lew,  when  the  superintendent  came  across 
to  the  spur  track.  "I  thought  you  said  this  was 
a  bad  man's  country.  We  have  been  out  here  for 
a  solid  hour,  and  nobody  has  shot  up  the  town  or 
even  whooped  a  single  lonesome  war-whoop;  in 

260 


Eleanor  Intervenes 

fact,  I  think  your  village  with  the  heavenly  name 
has  gone  ingloriously  to  bed.     We're  defrauded/' 

"It  does  go  to  bed  pretty  early— that  part  of  it 
which  doesn't  stay  up  pretty  late,"  laughed  Lid- 
gerwood.  Then  he  came  closer  and  spoke  to  Miss 
Brewster.  "I  am  going  west  in  my  car,  and  I 
don't  know  just  when  I  shall  return.  Please  tell 
your  father  that  everything  we  have  here  is  entirely 
at  his  service.  If  you  don't  see  what  you  want, 
you  are  to  ask  for  it." 

"Will  there  be  any  one  to  ask  when  you  are 
gone?"  she  inquired,  neither  sorrowing  nor  re 
joicing,  so  far  as  he  could  determine. 

"Oh,  yes;  McCloskey,  my  trainmaster,  will  be 
in  from  the  wreck  before  morning,  and  he  will  turn 
flip-flaps  trying  to  make  things  pleasant  for  you,  if 
you  will  give  him  the  chance." 

She  made  the  adorable  little  grimace  which 
always  carried  him  swiftly  back  to  a  certain  sum 
mer  of  ecstatic  memories;  to  a  time  when  her 
keenest  retort  had  been  no  more  than  a  playful 
love-thrust  and  there  had  been  no  bitterness  in 
her  mockery. 

"Will  he  make  dreadful  faces  at  me,  as  he  did  at 
you  this  morning  when  you  went  down  among 
the  smashed  cars  at  the  wreck  to  speak  to  him  ?" 
she  asked. 

261 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"So  you  were  looking  out  of  the  window,  too, 
were  you  ?  You  are  a  close  observer  and  a  good 
guesser.  That  was  Mac,  and — yes,  he  will  prob 
ably  make  faces  at  you.  He  can't  help  it  any 
more  than  he  can  help  breathing." 

Miss  Brewster  was  running  her  fingers  along 
the  hand-rail  as  if  it  were  the  key-board  of  a 
piano.  "You  say  you  don't  know  how  long  you 
will  be  away?"  she  asked. 

"No;  but  probably  not  more  than  the  night.  I 
was  only  providing  for  the  unexpected,  which  some 
people  say  is  what  always  happens." 

"Will  your  run  take  you  as  far  as  the  Timan- 
yoni  Canyon  ?" 

"Yes;  through  it,  and  some  little  distance  be 
yond." 

"You  have  just  said  that  we  are  to  ask  for  what 
we  want.  Did  you  mean  it?" 

"Surely,"  he  replied  unguardedly. 

"Then  we  may  as  well  begin  at  once,"  she  said 
coolly;  and  turning  quickly  to  the  others:  "O 
all  you  people;  listen  a  minute,  will  you  ?  Hush, 
Carolyn!  What  do  you  say  to  a  moonlight  ride 
through  one  of  the  grandest  canyons  in  the  West 
in  Mr.  Lidgerwood's  car  ?  It  will  be  something  to 
talk  about  as  long  as  you  live.  Don't  all  speak 
at  once,  please." 

262 


Eleanor  Intervenes 

But  they  did.  There  was  an  instant  and  enthusi 
astic  chorus  of  approval,  winding  up  rather  dole 
fully,  however,  with  Miss  Doty's,  "But  your 
mother  will  never  consent  to  it,  Eleanor!" 

"Mr.  Lidgerwood  will  never  consent,  you 
mean/'  put  in  Miriam  Holcombe  quietly. 

Lidgerwood  said  what  he  might  without  being 
too  crudely  inhospitable.  His  car  was  entirely  at 
the  service  of  the  president's  party,  of  course,  but 
it  was  not  very  commodious  compared  with  the 
Nadia.  Moreover,  he  was  going  on  a  business 
trip,  and  at  the  end  of  it  he  would  have  to  leave 
them  for  an  hour  or  two,  or  maybe  longer.  More 
over,  again,  if  they  got  tired  they  would  have  to 
sleep  as  they  could,  though  possibly  his  state-room 
in  the  service-car  might  be  made  to  accommodate 
the  three  young  women.  All  this  he  said,  hoping 
and  believing  that  Mrs.  Brewster  would  not  only 
refuse  to  go  herself  but  would  promptly  veto  an 
unchaperoned  excursion. 

But  this  was  one  time  when  his  distantly  related 
kinswoman  disappointed  him.  Mrs.  Brewster, 
cajoled  by  her  daughter,  yielded  a  reluctant  con 
sent,  going  to  the  car  door  to  tell  Lidgerwood  that 
she  would  hold  him  responsible  for  the  safe  return 
of  the  trippers. 

"See,   now,  how  fatally  easy  it  is  for  one  to 

263 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

promise  more — oh,  so  very  much  more! — than  one 
has  any  idea  of  performing,"  murmured  the  presi 
dent's  daughter,  dropping  out  to  walk  beside  the 
victim  when  the  party  trooped  down  the  long  plat 
form  of  the  Crow's  Nest  to  the  service-car.  And 
when  he  did  not  reply:  "Please  don't  be  grumpy." 

"It  was  the  maddest  notion!"  he  protested. 
"Whatever  made  you  suggest  it?" 

"More  churlishness?"  she  said  reproachfully. 
And  then,  with  ironical  sentiment:  "There  was  a 
time  when  you  would  have  moved  heaven  and 
earth  for  a  chance  to  take  me  somewhere  with  you, 
Howard." 

"To  be  with  you;  yes,  that  is  true.     But " 

Her  rippling  laugh  was  too  sweet  to  be  shrill; 
none  the  less  it  held  in  it  a  little  flick  of  the  whip  of 
malice. 

"  Listen,"  she  said.  "  I  did  it  out  of  pure  hate- 
fulness.  You  showed  so  plainly  this  afternoon 
that  you  wished  to  be  quit  of  me — of  the  entire 
party — that  I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to 
pay  you  back  with  good,  liberal  interest.  Pos 
sibly  you  will  think  twice  before  you  snub  me 
again,  Howard,  dear." 

Quickly  he  stopped  and  faced  her.  The  others 
were  a  few  steps  in  advance;  were  already  board 
ing  the  service-car. 

264 


Eleanor  Intervenes 

"One  word,  Eleanor — and  for  Heaven's  sake  let 
us  make  it  final.  There  are  some  things  that  I 
can  endure  and  some  others  that  I  cannot — will 
not.  I  love  you;  what  you  said  to  me  the  last  time 
we  were  together  made  no  difference;  nothing  you 
can  ever  say  will  make  any  difference.  You  must 
take  that  fact  into  consideration  while  you  are  here 
and  we  are  obliged  to  meet." 

"Well  ?"  she  said,  and  there  was  nothing  in  her 
tone  to  indicate  that  she  felt  more  than  a  passing 
interest  in  his  declaration. 

"That  is  all,"  he  ended  shortly.  "I  am,  as  I 
told  you  this  afternoon,  the  same  man  that  I  was 
a  year  ago  last  spring,  as  deeply  infatuated  and, 
unhappily,  just  as  far  below  your  ideal  of  what 
your  lover  should  be.  In  justice  to  me,  in  justice 
to  Van  Lew " 

"I  think  your  conductor  is  waiting  to  speak  to 
you,"  she  broke  in  sweetly,  and  he  gave  it  up, 
putting  her  on  the  car  and  turning  to  confront  the 
man  with  the  green-shaded  lantern  who  proved  to 
be  Bradford. 

"Any  special  orders,  Mr.  Lidgerwood?"  in 
quired  the  reformed  cattle-herder,  looking  stiff 
and  uncomfortable  in  his  new  service  uniform — 
one  of  Lidgerwood's  earliest  requirements  for  men 
on  duty  in  the  train  service. 

265 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

'''  Yes.  Run  without  stop  to  Little  Butte,  unless 
the  despatcher  calls  you  down.  Time  yourself 
to  make  Little  Butte  by  eleven  o'clock,  or  a  little 
later.  Who  is  on  the  engine  ?" 

"Williams." 

"Williams  ?  How  does  it  come  that  he  is  doub 
ling  out  with  me  ?  He  has  just  made  the  run 
over  the  Desert  Division  with  the  president's 


car." 


"So  have  I,  for  that  matter,"  said  Bradford 
calmly;  "but  we  both  got  a  hurry  call  about  fifteen 
minutes  ago." 

Lidgerwood  held  his  watch  to  the  light  of  the 
green-shaded  lantern.  If  he  meant  to  keep  the 
wire  appointment  with  Flemister,  there  was  no 
time  to  call  out  another  crew. 

"I  don't  like  to  ask  you  and  Williams  to  double 
out  of  your  turn,  especially  when  I  know  of  no 
necessity  for  it.  But  I'm  in  a  rush.  Can  you  two 
stand  it?" 

"Sure,"  said  the  ex-cow-man.  Then  he  vent 
ured  a  word  of  his  own.  "I'll  ride  up  ahead  with 
Williams — you're  pretty  full  up,  back  here  in  the 
car,  anyway — and  then  you'll  know  that  two  of  your 
own  men  are  keepin'  tab  on  the  run.  With  the 
wrecks  we're  enjoying 

Lidgerwood  was  impatient  of  mysteries. 
266 


Eleanor  Intervenes 

"What  do  you  mean,  Andy?"  he  broke  in. 
"Anything  new?" 

"Oh,  nothing  you  could  put  your  finger  on. 
Same  old  rag-chewin'  going  on  up  at  Cat  Biggs's 
and  the  other  waterin'  troughs  about  how  you've 
got  to  be  done  up,  if  it  costs  money." 

"That  isn't  new,"  objected  Lidgerwood  irri 
tably. 

"Tumble-weeds,"  said  Bradford,  "rollin'  round 
over  the  short-grass.  But  they  show  which  way 
the  wind's  comin'  from,  and  give  you  the  jumps 
when  you  wouldn't  have  'em  natural.  Williams 
had  a  spell  of  'em  a  few  minutes  ago  when  he  went 
over  to  take  the  266  out  o'  the  roundhouse  and 
found  one  of  the  back-shop  men  down  under  her 
tinkerin'  with  her  trucks." 

"What's  that?"  was  the  sharp  query. 

"That's  all  there  was  to  it,"  Bradford  went  on 
imperturbably.  "Williams  asked  the  shopman 
politely  what  in  hell  he  was  doing  under  there, 
and  the  fellow  crawled  out  and  said  he  was  just 
lookin'  her  over  to  see  if  she  was  all  right  for  the 
night  run.  Now,  you  wouldn't  think  there  was 
any  tumble-weed  in  that  to  give  a  man  the  jumps, 
but  Williams  had  'em,  all  the  same.  Says  he  to 
me,  tellin'  me  about  it  just  now:  'That's  all  right, 
Andy,  but  how  in  blue  blazes  did  he,  or  anybody 

267 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

else  except  Matthews  and  the  caller,  know  that  the 
266  was  goin'  out  ?  that's  what  I'd  like  to  know.' 
And  I  had  to  pass  it  up." 

Lidgerwood  asked  a  single  question. 

"Did  Williams  find  that  anything  had  been 
tampered  with  ?" 

"Nothing  that  you  could  shoot  up  the  back-shop 
man  for.  One  of  the  truck  safety-chains — the  one 
on  the  left  side,  back — was  loose.  But  it  couldn't 
have  hurt  anything  if  it  had  been  taken  off.  We 
ain't  runnin'  on  safety-chains  these  days." 

"Safety-chain  loose,  you  say? — so  if  the  truck 
should  jump  and  swing  it  would  keep  on  swinging  ? 
You  tell  Williams  when  you  go  up  ahead  that  I  want 
that  machinist's  name." 

"H'm,"  said  Bradford;  "reckon  it  was  meant 
to  do  that?" 

"  God  only  knows  what  isn't  meant,  these  times, 
Andy.  Hold  on  a  minute  before  you  give  Will 
iams  the  word  to  go."  Then  he  turned  to  young 
Jefferis,  who  had  come  out  on  the  car  platform  to 
light  a  cigarette.  "Will  you  ask  Miss  Brewster 
to  step  out  here  for  a  moment  ?" 

Eleanor  came  at  the  summons,  and  JefFeris  gave 
the  superintendent  a  clear  field  by  dropping  off  to 
ask  Bradford  for  a  match. 

"You  sent  for  me,  Howard?"  said  the  presi- 
268 


Eleanor  Intervenes 

dent's  daughter,  and  honey  could  not  have  matched 
her  tone  for  sweetness. 

"Yes.  I  shall  have  to  anticipate  the  Angels 
gossips  a  little  by  telling  you  that  we  are  in  the 
midst  of  a  pretty  bitter  labor  fight.  That  is  why 
people  go  gunning  for  me.  I  can't  take  you  and 
your  friends  over  the  road  to-night." 

"Why  not?"  she  inquired. 

"  Because  it  may  not  be  entirely  safe." 

"Nonsense!"  she  flashed  back.  "What  could 
happen  to  us  on  a  little  excursion  like  this?" 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  wish  you  would  reconsider 
and  go  back  to  the  Nadia" 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  said,  wil 
fully.  And  then,  with  totally  unnecessary  cruelty, 
she  added :  "  Is  it  a  return  of  the  old  malady  ?  Are 
you  afraid  again,  Howard  ?" 

The  taunt  was  too  much.  Wheeling  suddenly, 
Lidgerwood  snapped  out  a  summons  to  Jefferis: 
"Get  aboard,  Mr.  Jefferis;  we  are  going." 

At  the  word  Bradford  ran  forward,  swinging  his 
lantern,  and  a  moment  later  the  special  train  shot 
away  from  the  Crow's  Nest  platform  and  out  over 
the  yard  switches,  and  began  to  bore  its  way  into 
the  westward  night. 


269 


XVI 

THE    SHADOWGRAPH 

TT^ORTY-TWO  miles  south-west  of  Angels,  at  a 
JL  point  where  all  further  progress  seems  defi 
nitely  barred  by  the  huge  barrier  of  the  great  moun 
tain  range,  the  Red  Butte  Western,  having  picked 
its  devious  way  to  an  apparent  cul-de-sac  among 
the  foot-hills  and  hogbacks,  plunges  abruptly  into 
the  echoing  canyon  of  the  Eastern  Timanyoni. 

For  forty  added  miles  the  river  chasm,  through 
out  its  length  a  narrow,  tortuous  crevice,  with 
sheer  and  towering  cliffs  for  its  walls,  affords  a 
precarious  footing  for  the  railway  embankment, 
leading  the  double  line  of  steel  with  almost  sen 
tient  reluctance,  as  it  seems,  through  the  mighty 
mountain  barrier.  At  its  western  extremity  the 
canyon  forms  the  gate-way  to  a  shut-in  valley 
of  upheaved  hills  and  inferior  mountains  isolated 
by  wide  stretches  of  rolling  grassland.  To  the 
eastward  and  westward  of  the  great  valley  rise 
the  sentinel  peaks  of  the  two  enclosing  mountain 
ranges;  and  across  the  shut-in  area  the  river 

270 


The  Shadowgraph 

plunges  from  pool  to  pool,  twisting  and  turning 
as  the  craggy  and  densely  forested  lesser  heights 
constrain  it. 

Red  Butte,  the  centre  of  the  evanescent  mining 
excitement  which  was  originally  responsible  for  the 
building  of  the  railroad,  lies  high-pitched  among 
the  shouldering  spurs  of  the  western  boundary 
range.  Seeking  the  route  promising  the  fewest 
cuts  and  fills  and  the  easiest  grades,  Chandler,  the 
construction  chief  of  the  building  company,  had 
followed  the  south  bank  of  the  river  to  a  point  a 
short  distance  beyond  the  stream-fronting  cliffs 
of  the  landmark  hill  known  as  Little  Butte;  and 
at  the  station  of  the  same  name  he  had  built  his 
bridge  across  the  Timanyoni  and  swung  his  line 
in  a  great  curve  for  the  northward  climb  among 
the  hogbacks  to  the  gold-mining  district  in  which 
Red  Butte  was  the  principal  camp. 

Elsewhere  than  in  a  land  of  sky-piercing  peaks 
and  continent-cresting  highlands,  Little  Butte 
would  have  been  called  a  true  mountain.  On  the 
engineering  maps  of  the  Red  Butte  Western  its 
outline  appears  as  a  roughly  described  triangle 
with  five-mile  sides,  the  three  angles  of  the  figure 
marked  respectively  by  Silver  Switch,  Little  Butte 
station  and  bridge,  and  the  Wire-Silver  mine. 

Between  Silver  Switch  and  the  bridge  station, 
271 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

the  main  line  of  the  railroad  follows  the  base  of 
the  triangle,  with  the  precipitous  bluffs  of  the  big 
hill  on  the  left  and  the  torrenting  flood  of  the 
Timanyoni  on  the  right.  Along  the  eastern  side  of 
the  triangle,  and  leaving  the  main  track  at  Silver 
Switch,  ran  the  spur  which  had  formerly  served 
the  Wire-Silver  when  the  working  opening  of  the 
mine  had  been  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  ridge-like 
hill.  For  some  years  previous  to  the  summer  of 
overturnings  this  spur  had  been  disused,  though 
its  track,  ending  among  a  group  of  the  old  mine 
buildings  five  miles  away,  was  still  in  commission. 

Along  the  western  side  of  the  triangle,  with 
Little  Butte  station  for  its  point  of  divergence 
from  the  main  line,  ran  the  new  spur,  built  to  ac 
commodate  Flemister  after  he  had  dug  through 
the  hill,  ousted  the  rightful  owner  of  the  true  Wire- 
Silver  vein,  and  had  transferred  his  labor  hamlet 
and  his  plant — or  the  major  part  of  both — to  the 
western  slope  of  the  butte,  at  this  point  no  more 
than  a  narrow  ridge  separating  the  eastern  and 
western  gulches. 

Train  205,  with  ex-engineer  Judson  appar 
ently  sound  asleep  in  one  of  the  rearward  seats  of 
the  day  coach,  was  on  time  when  it  swung  out  of 
the  lower  canyon  portal  and  raced  around  the 
curves  and  down  the  grades  in  its  crossing  of 

272 


The  Shadowgraph 

Timanyoni  Park.  At  Point-of-Rocks  Judson  came 
awake  sufficiently  to  put  his  face  to  the  window, 
with  a  shading  hand  to  cut  off  the  car  lights;  but 
having  thus  located  the  train's  placement  in  the 
Park-crossing  race,  he  put  his  knees  up  against 
the  back  of  the  adjoining  seat,  pulled  his  cap  over 
his  eyes,  and  to  all  outward  appearances  went  to 
sleep  again.  Four  or  five  miles  farther  along, 
however,  there  came  a  gentle  grinding  of  brake- 
shoes  upon  the  chilled  wheel-treads  that  aroused 
him  quickly.  Another  flattening  of  his  nose 
against  the  window-pane  showed  him  the  familiar 
bulk  of  Little  Butte  looming  black  in  the  moon 
light,  and  a  moment  later  he  had  let  himself  si 
lently  into  the  rear  vestibule  of  the  day  coach, 
and  was  as  silently  opening  the  folding  doors  of 
the  vestibule  itself. 

Hanging  off  by  the  hand-rails,  he  saw  the 
engine's  headlight  pick  up  the  switch-stand  of  the 
old  spur.  The  train  was  unmistakably  slowing 
now,  and  he  made  ready  to  jump  if  the  need 
should  arise,  picking  his  place  at  the  track  side 
as  the  train  lights  showed  him  the  ground.  As 
the  speed  was  checked,  Judson  saw  what  he  was 
expecting  to  see.  Precisely  at  the  instant  of  the 
switch  passing,  a  man  dropped  from  the  forward 
step  of  the  smoker  and  walked  swiftly  away  up 

273 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

the  disused  track  of  the  old  spur.  Judson's  turn 
came  a  moment  later,  and  when  his  end  of  the 
day  coach  flicked  past  the  switch-stand  he,  too, 
dropped  to  the  ground,  and,  waiting  only  until  he 
could  follow  without  being  detected,  set  out  after 
the  tall  figure,  which  was  by  that  time  scarcely 
more  than  an  indistinct  and  retreating  blur  in  the 
moonlight. 

The  chase  led  directly  up  the  old  spur,  but  it 
did  not  continue  quite  to  the  five-mile-distant  end 
of  it.  A  few  hundred  yards  short  of  the  stockade 
enclosing  the  old  buildings  the  shadowy  figure 
took  to  the  forest  and  began  to  climb  the  ridge, 
going  straight  up,  as  nearly  as  Judson  could  de 
termine.  The  ex-engineer  followed,  still  keeping 
his  distance.  From  the  first  bench  above  the  val 
ley  level  he  looked  back  and  down  into  the  stock 
ade  enclosure.  All  of  the  old  buildings  were  dark, 
but  one  of  the  two  new  and  unpainted  ones  was 
brilliantly  lighted,  and  there  were  sounds  familiar 
enough  to  Judson  to  mark  it  as  the  Wire-Silver 
power-house.  Notwithstanding  his  interest  in  the 
chase,  Judson  was  curious  enough  to  stand  a  mo 
ment  listening  to  the  sharply  defined  exhausts  of  the 
high-speeded  steam-engine  driving  the  generators. 

"Say!"  he  ejaculated,  under  his  breath,  "if 
that  engine  ain't  a  dead  match  for  the  old  216 

274 


The  Shadowgraph 

pullin'  a  grade,  I  don't  want  a  cent!  Double 
cylinder,  set  on  the  quarter,  and  choo-chooin  like 
it  ought  to  have  a  pair  o'  steel  rails  under  it.  If  I 
had  time  I'd  go  down  yonder  and  break  a  winder 
in  that  power-shack;  blamed  if  I  wouldn't!" 

But,  unhappily,  there  was  no  time  to  spare;  as 
it  was,  he  had  lingered  too  long,  and  when  he  came 
out  upon  the  crest  of  the  narrow  ridge  and  at 
tained  a  point  of  view  from  which  he  could  look 
down  upon  the  buildings  clustering  at  the  foot  of 
the  western  slope,  he  had  lost  the  scent.  The 
tall  man  had  disappeared  as  completely  and  sud 
denly  as  if  the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed 
him. 

This,  in  Judson's  prefiguring,  was  a  small 
matter.  The  tall  man,  whom  the  ex-engineer  had 
unmistakably  recognized  at  the  moment  of  train- 
forsaking  as  Rankin  Hallock,  was  doubtless  on 
his  way  to  Flemister's  head-quarters  at  the  foot 
of  the  western  slope.  Why  he  should  take  the 
roundabout  route  up  the  old  spur  and  across  the 
mountain,  when  he  might  have  gone  on  the  train 
to  Little  Butte  station  and  so  have  saved  the  added 
distance  and  the  hard  climb,  was  a  question  which 
Judson  answered  briefly:  for  some  reason  of  his 
own,  Hallock  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  going  openly 
to  the  Wire-Silver  head-quarters.  Hence  the 

275 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

drop  from  the  train  at  Silver  Switch  and  the  long 
tramp  up  the  gulch  and  over  the  ridge. 

Forecasting  it  thus,  Judson  lost  no  time  on  the 
summit  of  mysterious  disappearances.  Choosing 
the  shortest  path  he  could  find  which  promised 
to  lead  him  down  to  the  mining  hamlet  at  the  foot 
of  the  westward-fronting  slope,  he  set  his  feet  in  it 
and  went  stumbling  down  the  steep  declivity, 
bringing  up,  finally,  on  a  little  bench  just  above 
the  mine  workings.  Here  he  stopped  to  get  his 
breath  and  his  bearings.  From  his  halting-place 
the  mine  head-quarters  building  lay  just  below 
him,  at  the  right  of  the  tunnel  entrance  to  the 
mine.  It  was  a  long  log  building  of  one  story, 
with  warehouse  doors  in  the  nearer  gable  and 
lighted  windows  to  mark  the  location  of  the  offices 
at  the  opposite  end. 

Making  a  detour  to  dodge  the  electric-lighted 
tunnel  mouth,  Judson  carefully  reconnoitred  the 
office  end  of  the  head-quarters  building.  There 
was  a  door,  with  steps  giving  upon  the  down-hill 
side,  and  there  were  two  windows,  both  of  which 
were  blank  to  the  eye  by  reason  of  the  drawn- 
down  shades.  Two  persons,  at  least,  were  in  the 
lighted  room;  Judson  could  hear  their  voices,  but 
the  thick  log  walls  muffled  the  sounds  to  an  in 
distinct  murmur.  On  the  mountain-facing  side 

276 


The  Shadowgraph 

of  the  building,  which  was  in  shadow,  the  ex- 
engineer  searched  painstakingly  for  some  open 
chink  or  cranny  between  the  logs,  but  there  was 
no  avenue  of  observation  either  for  the  eye  or 
the  ear.  Just  as  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
risk  the  moonlight  on  the  other  side  of  the  head 
quarters,  a  sound  like  the  moving  of  chairs  on 
a  bare  floor  made"  him  dodge  quickly  behind  the 
bole  of  a  great  mountain  pine  which  had  been  left 
standing  at  the  back  of  the  building.  The  huge 
tree  was  directly  opposite  one  of  the  windows, 
and  when  Judson  looked  again  the  figure  of  a 
man  sitting  in  a  chair  was  sharply  silhouetted  on 
the  drawn  window-shade. 

Judson  stared,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  stared  again. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  him  before  that  the  face 
of  a  man,  viewed  in  blank  profile,  could  differ  so 
strikingly  from  the  same  face  as  seen  eye  to  eye. 
That  the  man  whose  shadow  was  projected  upon 
the  window-shade  was  Rankin  Hallock,  he  could 
not  doubt.  The  bearded  chin,  the  puffy  lips,  the 
prominent  nose  were  all  faithfully  outlined  in  the 
exaggerated  shadowgraph.  But  the  hat  was  worn 
at  an  unfamiliar  angle,  and  there  was  something 
in  the  erect,  bulking  figure  that  was  still  more  un 
familiar.  Judson  backed  away  and  stared  again, 
muttering  to  himself.  If  he  had  not  traced  Hal- 

277 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

lock  almost  to  the  door  of  Flemister's  quarters, 
there  might  have  been  room  for  the  thin  edge  of  the 
doubt  wedge.  The  unfamiliar  pose  and  the  rakish 
tilt  of  the  soft  hat  were  not  among  the  chief  clerk's 
remembered  characteristics;  but  making  due  al 
lowance  for  the  distortion  of  the  magnified  facial 
outline,  the  profile  was  Hallock's. 

Having  definitely  settled  for  himself  the  question 
of  identity,  Judson  renewed  his  search  for  some 
eavesdropping  point  of  vantage.  Risking  the 
moonlight,  he  twice  made  the  circuit  of  the  occu 
pied  end  of  the  building.  There  was  a  line  of 
light  showing  under  the  ill-fitting  door,  and  with 
the  top  step  of  the  down-hill  flight  for  a  perching- 
place  one  might  lay  an  ear  to  the  crack  and  over 
hear.  But  door  and  steps  were  sharply  struck 
out  in  the  moonlight,  and  they  faced  the  mining 
hamlet  where  the  men  of  the  day  shift  were  still 
stirring. 

Judson  knew  the  temper  of  the  Timanyoni 
miners.  To  be  seen  crouching  on  the  boss's  door 
step  would  be  to  take  the  chance  of  making  a 
target  of  himself  for  the  first  loiterer  of  the  day 
shift  who  happened  to  look  his  way.  Dismissing 
the  risky  expedient,  he  made  a  third  circuit  from 
moon-glare  to  shadow,  this  time  upon  hands  and 
knees.  To  the  lowly  come  the  rewards  of  humil- 

278 


The  Shadowgraph 

ity.  Framed  level  upon  staut  log  pillars  on  the 
down-hill  side,  the  head-quarters  warehouse  and 
office  sheltered  a  space  beneath  its  floor  which 
was  roughly  boarded  up  with  slabs  from  the  log- 
sawing.  Slab  by  slab  the  ex-engineer  sought  for 
his  rat-hole,  trying  each  one  softly  in  its  turn. 
When  there  remained  but  three  more  to  be 
tugged  at,  the  loosened  one  was  found.  Judson 
swung  it  cautiously  aside  and  wriggled  through 
the  narrow  aperture  left  by  its  removal.  A  crawl 
ing  minute  later  he  was  crouching  beneath  the 
loosely  jointed  floor  of  the  lighted  room,  and  the  ave 
nue  of  the  ear  had  broadened  into  a  fair  highway. 
Almost  at  once  he  was  able  to  verify  his  guess 
that  there  were  only  two  men  in  the  room  above. 
At  all  events,  there  were  only  two  speakers.  They 
were  talking  in  low  tones,  and  Judson  had  no  dif 
ficulty  in  identifying  the  rather  high-pitched  voice 
of  the  owner  of  the  Wire-Silver  mine.  The  man 
whose  profile  he  had  seen  on  the  window-shade 
had  the  voice  which  belonged  to  the  outlined  feat 
ures,  but  the  listener  under  the  floor  had  a  vague 
impression  that  he  was  trying  to  disguise  it.  Jud 
son  knew  nothing  about  the  letter  in  which  Flemis- 
ter  had  promised  to  arrange  for  a  meeting  between 
Lidgerwood  and  the  ranchman  Grofield.  What 
he  did  know  was  that  he  had  followed  Hallock 

279 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

almost  to  the  door  of  Flemister's  office,  and  that  he 
had  seen  a  shadowed  face  on  the  office  window- 
shade  which  could  be  no  other  than  the  face  of  the 
chief  clerk.  It  was  in  spite  of  all  this  that  the 
impression  that  the  second  speaker  was  trying  to 
disguise  his  voice  persisted.  But  the  ex-engineer 
of  fast  passenger-trains  was  able  to  banish  the  im 
pression  after  the  first  few  minutes  of  eaves 
dropping. 

Judson  had  scarcely  found  his  breathing  space 
between  the  floor  timbers,  and  had  not  yet  over 
heard  enough  to  give  him  the  drift  of  the  low- 
toned  talk,  when  the  bell  of  the  private-line  tele 
phone  rang  in  the  room  above.  It  was  Flemister 
who  answered  the  bell-ringer. 

"Hello!  Yes;  this  is  Flemister.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  say; 
this  is   Flemister;    you're  talking  to  him.  .  .  . 
What's  that  ? — a  message  about  Mr.  Lidgerwood  ? 
...  All  right;  fire  away." 

"Who  is  it?"  came  the  inquiry,  in  the  grating 
voice  which  fitted,  and  yet  did  not  fit,  the  man 
whom  Judson  had  followed  from  his  boarding  of 
the  train  at  Angels  to  Silver  Switch,  and  from  the 
gulch  of  the  old  spur  to  his  disappearance  on  the 
wooded  slope  of  Little  Butte  ridge. 

The  listener  heard  the  click  of  the  telephone 
ear-piece  replacement. 

280 


The  Shadowgraph 

"It's  Goodloe,  talking  from  his  station  office  at 
Little  Butte,"  replied  the  mine  owner.  "The 
despatcher  has  just  called  him  up  to  say  that  Lidg- 
erwood  left  Angels  in  his  service-car,  running 
special,  at  eight-forty,  which  would  figure  it  here 
at  about  eleven,  or  a  little  later." 

"Who  is  running  it?"  inquired  the  other  man 
rather  anxiously,  Judson  decided. 

"Williams  and  Bradford.  A  fool  for  luck, 
every  time.  We  might  have  had  to  ecraser  a  couple 
of  our  friends." 

The  French  was  beyond  Judson,  but  the  mine- 
owner's  tone  supplied  the  missing  meaning,  and 
the  listener  under  the  floor  had  a  sensation  like 
that  which  might  be  produced  by  a  cold  wind 
blowing  up  the  nape  of  his  neck. 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  luck,"  rasped  the 
other  voice.  "  My  time  was  damned  short — after  I 
found  out  that  Lidgerwood  wasn't  coming  on  the 
passenger.  But  I  managed  to  send  word  to  Mat 
thews  and  Lester,  telling  them  to  make  sure  of 
Williams  and  Bradford.  We  could  spare  both  of 
them,  if  we  have  to." 

"Good!"  said  Flemister.  "Then  you  had 
some  such  alternative  in  mind  as  that  I  have  just 
been  proposing?" 

"  No,"  was  the  crusty  rejoinder.  "  I  was  merely 
281 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

providing  for  the  hundredth  chance.     I  don't  like 
your  alternative." 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  it's  needlessly  bloody.  We 
don't  have  to  go  at  this  thing  like  a  bull  at  a  gate. 
I've  had  my  finger  on  the  pulse  of  things  ever 
since  Lidgerwood  took  hold.  The  dope  is  work 
ing  all  right  in  a  purely  natural  way.  In  the  ordi 
nary  run  of  things,  it  will  be  only  a  few  days  or 
weeks  before  Lidgerwood  will  throw  up  his  hands 
and  quit,  and  when  he  goes  out,  I  go  in.  That's 
straight  goods  this  time." 

"You  thought  it  was  before,"  sneered  Flemis- 
ter,  "  and  you  got  beautifully  left."  Then :  "  You're 
talking  long  on  *  naturals'  and  the  'ordinary  run  of 
things,'  but  I  notice  you  schemed  with  Bart  Ruf- 
ford  to  put  him  out  of  the  fight  with  a  pistol  bullet!" 

Judson  felt  a  sudden  easing  of  strains.  He  had 
told  McCloskey  that  he  would  be  willing  to  swear 
to  the  voice  of  the  man  whom  he  had  overheard 
plotting  with  Rufford  in  Cat  Biggs's  back  room. 
Afterward,  after  he  had  Sufficiently  remembered 
that  a  whiskey  certainty  might  easily  lead  up  to  a 
sober  perjury,  he  had  admitted  the  possible  doubt. 
But  now  Flemister's  taunt  made  assurance  doubly 
sure.  Moreover,  the  arch-plotter  was  not  denying 
the  fact  of  the  conspiracy  with  "The  Killer." 

282 


The  Shadowgraph 

"Rufford  is  a  blood-thirsty  devil — like  yourself," 
the  other  man  was  saying  calmly.  "As  I  have  told 
you  before,  I've  discovered  Lidgerwood's  weakness 
— he  can't  call  a  sudden  bluff.  Rufford's  play— 
the  play  I  told  him  to  make — was  to  get  the  drop 
on  him,  scare  him  up  good,  and  chase  him  out  of 
town — out  of  the  country.  He  overran  his  orders 
— and  went  to  jail  for  it." 

"Well  ?"  said  the  mine-owner. 

"Your  scheme,  as  you  outlined  it  to  me  in  your 
cipher  wire  this  afternoon,  was  built  on  this  same 
weakness  of  Lidgerwood's,  and  I  agreed  to  it.  As 
I  understood  it,  you  were  to  toll  him  up  here  with 
some  lie  about  meeting  Grofield,  and  then  one  of 
us  was  to  put  a  pistol  in  his  face  and  bluff  him  into 
throwing  up  his  job.  As  I  say,  I  agreed  to  it. 
He'll  have  to  go  when  the  fight  with  the  men  gets 
hot  enough;  but  he  might  hold  on  too  long  for  our 
comfort." 

"Well?"  said  Flemister  again,  this  time  more 
impatiently,  Judson  thought. 

"  He  queered  your  lay-out  by  carefully  omitting  to 
come  on  the  passenger,  and  now  you  propose  to  fall 
back  upon  Rufford's  method.  I  don't  approve." 

Again  the  mine-owner  said  "Why  don't  you?" 
and  the  other  voice  took  up  the  question  argu- 
mentatively. 

283 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"  First,  because  it  is  unnecessary,  as  I  have  ex 
plained.  Lidgerwood  is  officially  dead,  right 
now.  When  the  grievance  committees  tell  him 
what  has  been  decided  upon,  he  will  put  on  his 
hat  and  go  back  to  wherever  it  was  that  he  came 
from." 

"And  secondly?"  suggested  Flemister,  still  with 
the  nagging  sneer  in  his  tone. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  Judson  listened 
until  the  effort  grew  positively  painful. 

'  The  secondly  is  a  weakness  of  mine,  you'll  say, 
Flemister.  I  want  his  job;  partly  because  it  be 
longs  to  me,  but  chiefly  because  if  I  don't  get  it  a 
bunch  of  us  will  wind  up  breaking  stone  for  the 
State.  But  I  haven't  anything  against  the  man 
himself.  He  trusts  me  ;  he  has  defended  me 
when  others  have  tried  to  put  him  wise ;  he  has 
been  damned  white  to  me,  Flemister." 

"Is  that  all?"  queried  the  mine-owner,  in  the 
tone  of  the  prosecuting  attorney  who  gives  the 
criminal  his  full  length  of  the  rope  with  which  to 
hang  himself. 

"All  of  that  part  of  it — and  you  are  saying  to 
yourself  that  it  is  a  good  deal  more  than  enough. 
Perhaps  it  is;  but  there  is  still  another  reason  for 
thinking  twice  before  burning  all  the  bridges  be 
hind  us.  Lidgerwood  is  Ford's  man;  if  he  throws 

284 


The  Shadowgraph 

up  his  job  of  his  own  accord,  I  may  be  able  to 
swing  Ford  into  line  to  name  me  as  his  successor. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  Lidgerwood  is  snuffed  out 
and  there  is  the  faintest  suspicion  of  foul  play  .  .  . 
Flemister,  I'm  telling  you  right  here  and  now  that 
that  man  Ford  will  neither  eat  nor  sleep  until  her 
has  set  the  dogs  on  us!" 

There  was  another  pause,  and  Judson  shifted 
his  weight  cautiously  from  one  elbow  to  the  other. 
Then  Flemister  began,  without  heat  and  equally 
without  compunction.  The  ex-engineer  shivered, 
as  if  the  measured  words  had  been  so  many  drops 
of  ice-water  dribbling  through  the  cracks  in  the 
floor  to  fall  upon  his  spine. 

''You  say  it  is  unnecessary;  that  Lidgerwood 
will  be  pushed  out  by  the  labor  fight.  My  answer 
to  that  is  that  you  don't  know  him  quite  as  well  as 
you  think  you  do.  If  he's  allowed  to  live,  he'll 
stay — unless  somebody  takes  him  unawares  and 
scares  him  off,  as  I  meant  to  do  to-night  when  I 
wired  you.  If  he  continues  to  live,  and  stay,  you 
know  what  will  happen,  sooner  or  later.  He'll 
find  you  out  for  the  double-faced  cur  that  you  are 
— and  after  that,  the  fireworks." 

At  this  the  other  voice  took  its  turn  at  the  savage 
sneering. 

'You  can't  put  it  all  over  me  that  way,  'Flemis- 
285 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

ter;  you  can't,  and,  by  God,  you  sha'n't!  You're 
in  the  hole  just  as  deep  as  I  am,  foot  for  foot!" 

"Oh,  no,  my  friend,"  said  the  cooler  voice.  "I 
haven't  been  stealing  in  car-load  lots  from  the 
company  that  hires  me;  I  have  merely  been  buy 
ing  a  little  disused  scrap  from  you.  You  may  say 
that  I  have  planned  a  few  of  the  adverse  happen 
ings  which  have  been  running  the  loss-and-damage 
account  of  the  road  up  into  the  pictures  during 
the  past  few  weeks — possibly  I  have;  but  you  are 
the  man  who  has  been  carrying  out  the  plans,  and 
you  are  the  man  the  courts  will  recognize.  But 
we're  wasting  time  sitting  here  jawing  at  each 
other  like  a  pair  of  old  women.  It's  up  to  us  to 
obliterate  Lidgerwood;  after  which  it  will  be  up 
to  you  to  get  his  job  and  cover  up  your  tracks  as 
you  can.  If  he  lives,  he'll  dig;  and  if  he  digs,  he'll 
turn  up  things  that  neither  of  us  can  stand  for. 
See  how  he  hangs  onto  that  building-and-loan 
ghost.  He'll  tree  somebody  on  that  before  he's 
through,  you  mark  my  words!  And  it  runs  in  my 
mind  that  the  somebody  will  be  you." 

"  But  this  trap  scheme  of  yours,"  protested  the 
other  man;  "it's  a  frost,  I  tell  you  !  You  say  the 
night  passenger  from  Red  Butte  is  late.  I  know 
it's  late,  now;  but  Cranford's  running  it,  and  it  is 
all  down-hill  from  Red  Butte  to  the  bridge.  Cran- 

286 


The  Shadowgraph 

ford  will  make  up  his  thirty  minutes,  and  that  will 
put  his  train  right  here  in  the  thick  of  things.  Call 
it  off  for  to-night,  Flemister.  Meet  Lidgerwood 
when  he  comes  and  tell  him  an  easy  lie  about  your 
not  being  able  to  hold  Grofield  for  the  right-of- 
way  talk." 

Judson  heard  the  creak  and  snap  of  a  swing- 
chair  suddenly  righted,  and  the  floor  dust  jarred 
through  the  cracks  upon  him  when  the  mine- 
owner  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Call  it  off  and  let  you  drop  out  of  it  ?  Not  by 
a  thousand  miles,  my  cautious  friend!  Want  to 
stay  here  and  keep  your  feet  warm  while  I  go  and 
do  it?  Not  on  your  tintype,  you  yapping  hound! 
I'm  about  ready  to  freeze  you,  anyway,  for  the 
second  time — mark  that,  will  you  ? — for  the  second 
time.  No,  keep  your  hands  where  I  can  see  'em, 
or  I'll  knife  you  right  where  you  sit!  You  can 
bully  and  browbeat  a  lot  of  railroad  buckies  when 
you're  playing  the  boss  act,  but  I  know  you!  You 
come  with  me  or  I'll  give  the  whole  snap  away  to 
Vice-President  Ford.  I'll  tell  him  how  you  built 
a  street  of  houses  in  Red  Butte  out  of  company 
material  and  with  company  labor.  I'll  prove 
to  him  that  you've  scrapped  first  one  thing  and 
then  another — condemned  them  so  you  might  sell 
them  for  your  own  pocket.  I'll " 

287 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Shut  up!"  shouted  the  other  man  hoarsely. 
And  then,  after  a  moment  that  Judson  felt  was 
crammed  to  the  bursting  point  with  murderous 
possibilities:  "Get  your  tools  and  come  on.  We'll 
see  who's  got  the  yellows  before  we're  through 
with  this!" 


288 


XVII 

THE    DIPSOMANIAC 

THERE  are  moments  when  the  primal  in 
stincts  assert  themselves  with  a  sort  of  blind 
ferocity,  and  to  Judson,  jammed  under  the  floor 
timbers  of  Flemister's  head-quarters  office,  came 
one  of  these  moments  when  he  heard  the  two  men 
in  the  room  above  moving  to  depart,  and  found 
himself  caught  between  the  timbers  so  that  he 
could  not  retreat. 

What  had  happened  he  was  unable,  in  the  first 
fierce  struggle  for  freedom,  fully  to  determine.  It 
was  as  if  a  living  hand  had  reached  down  to  pin 
him  fast  in  the  tunnel-like  space.  Then  he  dis 
covered  that  a  huge  splinter  on  one  of  the  joists 
was  thrust  like  a  great  barb  into  his  coat.  Ordi 
narily  cool  and  collected  in  the  face  of  emergencies, 
the  ex-engineer  lost  his  head  for  a  second  or  so 
and  fought  like  a  trapped  animal.  Then  the 
frenzy  fit  passed  and  the  quick  wit  reasserted 
itself.  Extending  his  arms  over  his  head  and 
digging  his  toes  into  the  dry  earth  for  a  purchase, 

289 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

he  backed,  crab-wise,  out  of  the  entangled  coat, 
freed  the  coat,  and  made  for  the  narrow  exit  in  a 
sweating  panic  of  excitement. 

Notwithstanding  the  excitement,  however,  the 
recovered  wit  was  taking  note  of  the  movements 
of  the  men  who  were  leaving  the  room  overhead. 
They  were  not  going  out  by  the  direct  way — out 
of  the  door  facing  the  moonlight  and  the  mining 
hamlet.  They  were  passing  out  through  the  store 
room  in  the  rear.  Also,  there  were  other  foot-falls 
—cautious  treadings,  these — as  of  some  third  per 
son  hastening  to  be  first  at  the  more  distant  door 
of  egress. 

Judson  was  out  of  his  dodge-hole  and  flitting 
from  pine  to  pine  on  the  upper  hill-side  in  time  to 
see  a  man  leap  from  the  loading  platform  at  the 
warehouse  end  of  the  building  and  run  for  the 
sheltering  shadows  of  the  timbering  at  the  mine 
entrance.  Following  closely  upon  the  heels  of 
their  mysterious  file  leader  came  the  two  whose 
footsteps  Judson  had  been  timing,  and  these,  too, 
crossed  quickly  to  the  tunnel  mouth  of  the  mine 
and  disappeared  within  it. 

Judson  pursued  swiftly  and  without  a  moment's 
hesitation.  Happily  for  him,  the  tunnel  was 
lighted  at  intervals  by  electric  incandescents,  their 
tiny  filaments  glowing  mistily  against  the  wet  and 

290 


The  Dipsomaniac 

glistening  tunnel  roof.  Going  softly,  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  two  men  as  they  passed  under  one 
of  the  lights  in  the  receding  tunnel  depths,  and  a 
moment  later  he  could  have  sworn  that  a  third, 
doubtless  the  man  who  had  leaped  from  the  load 
ing  platform  to  run  and  hide  in  the  shadows  at  the 
mine  mouth,  passed  the  same  light,  going  in  the 
same  direction. 

A  hundred  yards  deeper  into  the  mountain  there 
was  a  confirming  repetition  of  the  flash-light  pict 
ure  for  the  ex-engineer.  The  two  men,  walking 
rapidly  now,  one  a  step  in  advance  of  the  other, 
passed  under  another  of  the  overhead  light  bulbs, 
and  this  time  Judson,  watching  for  the  third  man, 
saw  him  quite  plainly.  The  sight  gave  him  a 
start.  The  third  man  was  tall,  and  he  wore  a  soft 
hat  drawn  low  over  his  face. 

"Well,  I'll  be  jiggered!"  muttered  the  trailer, 
pulling  his  cap  down  to  his  ears  and  quickening 
his  pace.  "If  I  didn't  know  better,  I'd  swear 
that  was  Hallock  again— or  Hallock's  shadder 
follerin'  him  at  a  good  long  range!" 

The  chase  was  growing  decidedly  mysterious. 
The  two  men  in  the  lead  could  be  no  others  than 
Flemister  and  the  chief  clerk,  presumably  on  their 
way  to  the  carrying  out  of  whatever  plot  they  had 
agreed  upon,  with  Lidgerwood  for  the  potential 

291 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

victim.  But  since  this  plot  evidently  turned 
upon  the  nearing  approach  of  Lidgerwood's  spe 
cial  train,  why  were  they  plunging  on  blindly  into 
the  labyrinthine  depths  of  the  Wire-Silver  mine  ? 
This  was  an  even  half  of  the  mystery,  and  the 
other  half  was  quite  as  puzzling.  Who  was  the 
third  man  ?  Was  he  a  confederate  in  the  plot,  or 
was  he  also  following  to  spy  upon  the  conspirators  ? 

Judson  was  puzzled,  but  he  did  not  let  his  be 
wilderment  tangle  the  feet  of  his  principal  pur 
pose,  which  was  to  keep  Flemister  and  his  reluc 
tant  accomplice  in  sight.  This  purpose  was  pres 
ently  defeated  in  a  most  singular  manner.  At  the 
end  of  one  of  the  longer  tunnel  levels,  a  black 
and  dripping  cavern,  lighted  only  by  a  single  in 
candescent  shining  like  a  star  imprisoned  in  the 
dismal  depths,  the  ex-engineer  saw  what  appeared 
to  be  a  wooden  bulkhead  built  across  the  passage 
and  effectively  blocking  it.  When  the  two  men 
came  to  this  bulkhead  they  passed  through  it  and 
disappeared,  and  the  shock  of  the  confined  air  in 
the  tunnel  told  of  a  door  slammed  behind  them. 

Judson  broke  into  a  stumbling  run,  and  then 
stopped  short  in  increasing  bewilderment.  At 
the  slamming  of  the  door  the  third  man  had  darted 
forward  out  of  the  shadows  to  fling  himself  upon 
the  wooden  barrier,  beating  upon  it  with  his  fists 

292 


The  Dipsomaniac 

and  cursing  like  a  madman.  Judson  saw,  under 
stood,  and  acted,  all  with  the  instinctive  instan- 
taneousness  born  of  his  trade  of  engine-driving. 
The  two  men  in  advance  were  merely  taking  the 
short  cut  through  the  mountain  to  the  old  work 
ings  on  the  eastern  slope,  and  the  door  in  the 
bulkhead,  which  was  doubtless  one  of  the  air 
locks  in  the  ventilating  system  of  the  mine,  had 
fastened  itself  automatically  after  Flemister  had 
released  it. 

Judson  was  a  hundred  yards  down  the  tunnel, 
racing  like  a  trained  sprinter  for  the  western  exit, 
before  he  thought  to  ask  himself  why  the  third 
man  was  playing  the  madman  before  the  locked 
door.  But  that  was  a  matter  negligible  to  him; 
his  affair  was  to  get  out  of  the  mine  with  the  loss 
of  the  fewest  possible  seconds  of  time — to  win  out, 
to  climb  the  ridge,  and  to  descend  the  eastern 
slope  to  the  old  workings  before  the  two  plotters 
should  disappear  beyond  the  hope  of  rediscovery. 

He  did  his  best,  flying  down  the  long  tunnel 
reaches  with  little  regard  for  the  precarious  foot 
ing,  tripping  over  the  cross-ties  of  the  miniature 
tramway  and  colliding  with  the  walls,  now  and 
then,  between  the  widely  separated  electric  bulbs. 
Far  below,  in  the  deeper  levels,  he  could  hear  the 
drumming  chatter  of  the  power-drills  and  the 

293 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

purring  of  the  compressed  air,  but  the  upper  gang 
way  was  deserted,  and  it  was  not  until  he  was 
stumbling  through  the  timbered  portal  that  a 
watchman  rose  up  out  of  the  shadows  to  confront 
and  halt  him.  There  was  no  time  to  spare  for 
soft  words  or  skilful  evasions.  With  a  savage 
upper-cut  that  caught  the  watchman  on  the  point 
of  the  jaw  and  sent  him  crashing  among  the  picks 
and  shovels  of  the  mine-mouth  tool-room,  Judson 
darted  out  into  the  moonlight.  But  as  yet  the 
fierce  race  was  only  fairly  begun.  Without  stop 
ping  to  look  for  a  path,  the  ex-engineer  flung  him 
self  at  the  steep  hill-side,  running,  falling,  clamber 
ing  on  hands  and  knees,  bursting  by  main  strength 
through  the  tangled  thickets  of  young  pines,  and 
hurling  himself  blindly  over  loose-lying  bowlders 
and  the  trunks  of  fallen  trees.  When,  after  what 
seemed  like  an  eternity  of  lung-bursting  strug 
gles,  he  came  out  upon  the  bare  summit  of  the 
ridge,  his  tongue  was  like  a  dry  stick  in  his 
mouth,  refusing  to  shape  the  curses  that  his  soul 
was  heaping  upon  the  alcohol  which  had  made  him 
a  wind-broken,  gasping  weakling  in  the  prime  of 
his  manhood. 

For,  after  all  the  agonizing  strivings,  he  was  too 
late.  It  was  a  rough  quarter-mile  down  to  the 
shadowy  group  of  buildings  whence  the  humming 

294 


The  Dipsomaniac 

of  the  dynamo  and  the  quick  exhausts  of  the  high- 
speeded  steam-engine  rose  on  the  still  night  air. 
Judson  knew  that  the  last  lap  was  not  in  his 
trembling  muscles  or  in  the  thumping  heart  and 
the  wind-broken  lungs.  Moreover,  the  path,  if 
any  there  were,  was  either  to  the  right  or  the  left 
of  the  point  to  which  he  had  attained;  fronting 
him  there  was  a  steep  cliff,  trifling  enough  as  to 
real  heights  and  depths,  but  an  all-sufficient  bar 
rier  for  a  spent  runner. 

The  ex-engineer  crawled  cautiously  to  the  edge 
of  the  barrier  cliff,  rubbed  the  sweat  out  of  his 
smarting  eyes,  and  peered  down  into  the  half- 
lighted  shadows  of  the  stockaded  enclosure.  It 
was  not  very  long  before  he  made  them  out — two 
indistinct  figures  moving  about  among  the  disused 
and  dilapidated  ore  sheds  clustering  at  the  track 
end  of  the  old  spur.  Now  and  again  a  light  glowed 
for  an  instant  and  died  out,  like  the  momentary 
brilliance  of  a  gigantic  fire-fly,  by  which  the 
watcher  on  the  cliff's  summit  knew  that  the  two 
were  guiding  their  movements  by  the  help  of  an 
electric  flash-lamp. 

What  they  were  doing  did  not  long  remain  a 
mystery.  Judson  heard  a  distance-diminished 
sound,  like  the  grinding  of  rusty  wheels  upon  iron 
rails,  and  presently  a  shadowy  thing  glided  out  of 

295 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

one  of  the  ore  sheds  and  took  its  place  upon  the 
track  of  the  old  spur.  Followed  a  series  of  clank- 
ings  still  more  familiar  to  the  watcher — the  ting 
of  metal  upon  metal,  as  of  crow-bars  and  other 
tools  cast  carelessly,  one  upon  the  other,  in  the 
loading  of  the  shadowy  vehicle.  Making  a  tele 
scope  of  his  hands  to  shut  out  the  glare  from 
the  lighted  windows  of  the  power-house,  Judson 
could  dimly  discern  the  two  figures  mounting  to 
their  places  on  the  deck  of  the  thing  which  he 
now  knew  to  be  a  hand-car.  A  moment  later,  to 
the  musical  click-click  of  wheels  passing  over  rail- 
joints,  the  little  car  shot  through  the  gate-way 
in  the  stockade  and  sped  away  down  the  spur, 
the  two  indistinct  figures  bowing  alternately  to 
each  other  like  a  pair  of  grotesque  automatons. 
Winded  and  leg-weary  as  he  was,  Judson's  first 
impulse  prompted  him  to  seek  for  the  path  to  the 
end  that  he  might  dash  down  the  hill  and  give 
chase.  But  if  he  would  have  yielded,  another  pur 
suer  was  before  him  to  show  him  the  futility  of 
that  expedient.  While  the  clicking  of  the  hand 
car  wheels  was  still  faintly  audible,  a  man — the 
door-hammering  madman,  Judson  thought  it 
must  be — materialized  suddenly  from  somewhere 
in  the  under-shadows  to  run  down  the  track  after 
the  disappearing  conspirators.  The  engineer  saw 

296 


The  Dipsomaniac 

the  racing  foot-pursuer  left  behind  so  quickly  that 
his  own  hope  of  overtaking  the  car  died  almost 
before  it  had  taken  shape. 

"That  puts  it  up  to  me  again,"  he  groaned, 
rising  stiffly.  Then  he  faced  once  more  toward 
the  western  valley  and  the  point  of  the  great  tri 
angle,  where  the  lights  of  Little  Butte  station  and 
bridge  twinkled  uncertainly  in  the  distance.  "If 
I  can  get  down  yonder  to  Goodloe's  wire  in  time 
to  catch  the  super's  special  before  it  passes  Tim- 
anyoni" — he  went  on,  only  to  drop  his  jaw  and 
gasp  when  he  held  the  face  of  his  watch  up  to 
the  moonlight.  Then,  brokenly,  "My  God  !  I 
couldn't  begin  to  do  it  unless  I  had  wings: 
he  said  eleven  o'clock,  and  it's  ten-ten  right 
now ! " 

There  was  the  beginning  of  a  frenzied  outburst 
of  despairing  curses  upbubbling  to  Judson's  lips 
when  he  realized  his  utter  helplessness  and  the 
consequences  menacing  the  superintendent's  spe 
cial.  True,  he  did  not  know  what  the  consequences 
were  to  be,  but  he  had  overheard  enough  to  be  sure 
that  Lidgerwood's  life  was  threatened.  Then,  at 
the  climax  of  despairing  helplessness  he  remem 
bered  that  there  was  a  telephone  in  the  mine- 
owner's  office — a  telephone  that  connected  with 
Goodloe's  station  at  Little  Butte.  Here  was  a 

297 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

last  slender  chance  of  getting  a  warning  to  Good- 
loe,  and  through  him,  by  means  of  the  railroad 
wire,  to  the  superintendent's  special.  Instantly 
Judson  forgot  his  weariness,  and  raced  away  down 
the  western  slope  of  the  mountain,  prepared  to 
fight  his  way  to  the  telephone  if  the  entire  night 
shift  of  the  Wire-Silver  should  try  to  stop  him. 

It  cost  ten  of  the  precious  fifty  minutes  to  retrace 
his  steps  down  the  mountain-side,  and  five  more 
were  lost  in  dodging  the  mine  watchman,  who, 
having  recovered  from  the  effects  of  Judson's 
savage  blow,  was  prowling  about  the  mine  build 
ings,  revolver  in  hand,  in  search  of  his  mysteri 
ous  assailant.  After  the  watchman  was  out  of 
the  way,  five  other  minutes  went  to  the  cautious 
prying  open  of  the  window  least  likely  to  attract 
attention — the  window  upon  whose  drawn  shade 
the  convincing  profile  had  been  projected.  Jud 
son's  lips  were  dry  and  his  hands  were  shaking 
again  when  he  crept  through  the  opening,  and 
dropped  into  the  unfamiliar  interior,  where  the 
darkness  was  but  thinly  diluted  by  the  moonlight 
filtering  through  the  small,  dingy  squares  of  the 
opposite  window.  To  have  the  courage  of  a  house 
breaker,  one  must  be  a  burglar  in  fact;  and  the 
ex-engineer  knew  how  swiftly  and  certainly  he 
would  pay  the  penalty  if  any  one  had  seen  him 

298 


The  Dipsomaniac 

climbing    in    at    the    forced    window,    or    should 
chance  to  discover  him  now  that  he  was  in. 

But  there  was  a  stronger  motive  than  fear,  fear 
for  himself,  to  set  him  groping  for  the  telephone. 
The  precious  minutes  were  flying,  and  he  knew 
that  by  this  time  the  two  men  on  the  hand-car  must 
have  reached  the  main  line  at  Silver  Switch. 
Whatever  helpful  chain  of  events  might  be  set  in 
motion  by  communicating  with  Goodloe,  must  be 
linked  up  quickly. 

He  found  the  telephone  without  difficulty.  It 
was  an  old-fashioned  set,  with  a  crank  and  bell 
for  ringing  up  the  call  at  the  other  end  of  the  line. 
A  single  turn  of  the  crank  told  him  that  it  was  cut 
off  somewhere,  doubtless  by  a  switch  in  the  office 
wiring.  In  a  fresh  fever  of  excitement  he  began  ? 
search  for  the  switch,  tracing  with  his  fingers  the 
wires  which  led  from  the  instrument  and  following 
where  they  ran  around  the  end  of  the  room  on  the 
wainscoting.  In  the  corner  farthest  from  his  win 
dow  of  ingress  he  found  the  switch  and  felt  it  out. 
It  was  a  simple  cut-out,  designed  to  connect  either 
the  office  instrument  or  the  mine  telephones  with 
the  main  wire,  as  might  be  desired.  Under  the 
switch  stood  a  corner  cupboard,  and  in  feeling 
for  the  wire  connections  on  top  of  the  cupboard, 
Judson  found  his  fingers  running  lightly  over  the 

299 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

bounding  surfaces  of  an  object  with  which  he 
was,  unhappily,  only  too  familiar — a  long-necked 
bottle  with  the  seal  blown  in  the  glass.  The 
corner  cupboard  was  evidently  Flemister's  side 
board. 

Almost  before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing, 
Judson  had  grasped  the  bottle  and  had  removed 
the  cork.  Here  was  renewed  strength  and  cour 
age,  and  a  swift  clearing  of  the  brain,  to  be  had  for 
the  taking.  At  the  drawing  of  the  cork  the  fine 
bouquet  of  the  liquor  seemed  instantly  to  fill  the 
room  with  its  subtle  and  intoxicating  essence. 
With  the  smell  of  the  whiskey  in  his  nostrils  he 
had  the  bottle  half-way  to  his  lips  before  he  realized 
that  the  demon  of  appetite  had  sprung  upon  him 
out  of  the  darkness,  taking  him  naked  and  un 
awares.  Twice  he  put  the  bottle  down,  only  to 
take  it  up  again.  His  lips  were  parched;  his 
tongue  rattled  in  his  mouth,  and  within  there  were 
cravings  like  the  fires  of  hell,  threatening  torments 
unutterable  if  they  should  not  be  assuaged. 

"God  have  mercy!"  he  mumbled,  and  then,  in 
a  voice  which  the  rising  fires  had  scorched  to  a 
hoarse  whisper:  "If  I  drink,  I'm  damned  to  all 
eternity;  and  if  I  don't  take  just  one  swallow,  I'll 
never  be  able  to  talk  so  as  to  make  Goodloe  un 
derstand  me!" 

300 


The  Dipsomaniac 

It  was  the  supreme  test  of  the  man.  Some 
where,  deep  down  in  the  soul-abyss  of  the  tempted 
one,  a  thing  stirred,  took  shape,  and  arose  to  help 
him  to  fight  the  devil  of  appetite.  Slowly  the 
fierce  thirst  burned  itself  out.  The  invisible  hand 
at  his  throat  relaxed  its  cruel  grip,  and  a  fine  dew 
of  perspiration  broke  out  thickly  on  his  forehead. 
At  the  sweating  instant  the  newly  arisen  soul- 
captain  within  him  whispered,  "Now,  John  Jud- 
son — once  for  all!"  and  staggering  to  the  open 
window  he  flung  the  tempting  bottle  afar  among 
the  scattered  bowlders,  waiting  until  he  had  heard 
the  tinkling  crash  of  broken  glass  before  he 
turned  back  to  his  appointed  task. 

His  hands  were  no  longer  trembling  when  lie 
once  more  wound  the  crank  of  the  telephone  and 
held  the  receiver  to  his  ear.  There  was  an  an 
swering  skirl  of  the  bell,  and  then  a  voice  said: 
"Hello!  This  is  Goodloe:  what's  wanted  ?" 

Judson  wasted  no  time  in  explanations.  "This 
is  Judson — John  Judson.  Get  Timanyoni  on  your 
wire,  quick,  and  catch  Mr.  Lidgerwood's  special. 
Tell  Bradford  and  Williams  to  run  slow,  looking 
for  trouble.  Do  you  get  that  ?" 

A  confused  medley  of  rumblings  and  clankings 
crashed  in  over  the  wire,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
interruption  Judson  heard  Goodloe  put  down  the 

301 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

receiver.  In  a  flash  he  knew  what  was  happening 
at  Little  Butte  station.  The  delayed  passenger- 
train  from  the  west  had  arrived,  and  the  agent  was 
obliged  to  break  off  and  attend  to  his  duties. 

Anxiously  Judson  twirled  the  crank,  again  and 
yet  again.  Since  Goodloe  had  not  cut  off  the  con 
nection,  the  mingled  clamor  of  the  station  came 
to  the  listening  ear;  the  incessant  clicking  of  the 
telegraph  instruments  on  Goodloe's  table,  the 
trundling  roar  of  a  baggage-truck  on  the  station 
platform,  the  cacophonous  screech  of  the  passenger- 
engine's  pop-valve.  With  the  phut  of  the  closing 
safety-valve  came  the  conductor's  cry  of  "All 
aboard !"  and  then  the  long-drawn  sobs  of  the 
big  engine  as  Cranford  started  the  train.  Judson 
knew  that  in  all  human  probability  the  super 
intendent's  special  had  already  passed  Timan- 
yoni,  the  last  chance  for  a  telegraphic  warning; 
and  here  was  the  passenger  slipping  away,  also 
without  warning. 

Goodloe  came  back  to  the  telephone  when  the 
train  clatter  had  died  away,  and  took  up  the  broken 
conversation. 

"Are  you  there  yet,  John?"  he  called.  And 
when  Judson's  yelp  answered  him:  "All  right; 
now,  what  was  it  you  were  trying  to  tell  me 
about  the  special  ?" 

302 


The  Dipsomaniac 

Judson  did  not  swear;  the  seconds  were  too 
vitally  precious.  He  merely  repeated  his  warning, 
with  a  hoarse  prayer  for  haste. 

There  was  another  pause,  a  break  in  the  click 
ing  of  Goodloe's  telegraph  instruments,  and  then 
the  agent's  voice  came  back  over  the  wire:  "Can't 
reach  the  special.  It  passed  Timanyoni  ten 
minutes  ago." 

Judson's  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  and  he  had  to 
swallow  twice  before  he  could  go  on. 

"Where  does  it  meet  the  passenger?"  he  de 
manded. 

"You  can  search  me,"  replied  the  Little  Butte 
agent,  who  was  not  of  those  who  go  out  of  their 
way  to  borrow  trouble.  Then,  suddenly:  "Hold 
the  'phone  a  minute;  the  despatcher's  calling  me, 
right  now." 

There  was  a  third  trying  interval  of  waiting 
for  the  man  in  the  darkened  room  at  the  Wire- 
Silver  head-quarters;  an  interval  shot  through 
with  pricklings  of  feverish  impatience,  mingled 
with  a  lively  sense  of  the  risk  he  was  running; 
and  then  Goodloe  called  again. 

"Trouble,"  he  said  shortly.  "Angels  didn't 
know  that  Cranford  had  made  up  so  much  time. 
Now  he  tries  to  give  me  an  order  to  hold  the  pas 
senger—after  it's  gone  by.  So  long.  I'm  going 

303 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

to  take  a  lantern  and  mog  along  up  the  track  to 
see  where  they  come  together." 

Judson  hung  up  the  receiver,  reset  the  wire 
switch  to  leave  it  as  he  had  found  it,  climbed  out 
through  the  open  window  and  replaced  the  sash; 
all  this  methodically,  as  one  who  sets  the  death 
chamber  in  order  after  the  sheet  has  been  drawn 
over  the  face  of  the  corpse.  Then  he  stumbled 
down  the  hill  to  the  gulch  bottom  and  started  out 
to  walk  along  the  new  spur  toward  Little  Butte 
station,  limping  painfully  and  feeling  mechan 
ically  in  his  pocket  for  his  pipe,  which  had  appar 
ently  been  lost  in  some  one  of  the  many  swift  and 
strenuous  scene-shiftings. 


304 


XVIII 

AT   SILVER    SWITCH 

LIKE  that  of  other  railroad  officials,  whose 
duties  constrain  them  to  spend  much  time  in 
transit,  Lidgerwood's  desk-work  went  with  him 
up  and  down  and  around  and  about  on  the  two 
divisions,  and  before  leaving  his  office  in  the  Crow's 
Nest  to  go  down  to  the  waiting  special,  he  had 
thrust  a  bunch  of  letters  and  papers  into  his 
pocket  to  be  ground  through  the  business-mill  on 
the  run  to  Little  Butte. 

It  was  his  surreptitious  transference  of  the 
rubber-banded  bunch  of  letters  to  the  oblivion  of 
the  closed  service-car  desk,  observed  by  Miss 
Brewster,  that  gave  the  president's  daughter  an 
opportunity  to  make  partial  amends  for  having 
turned  his  business  trip  into  a  car-party.  Before 
the  special  was  well  out  of  the  Angels  yard  she  was 
commanding  silence,  and  laying  down  the  law  for 
the  others,  particularizing  Carolyn  Doty,  though 
only  by  way  of  a  transfixing  eye. 

305 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"  Listen  a  moment,  all  of  you,"  she  called.  "We 
mustn't  forget  that  this  isn't  a  planned  excursion 
for  us;  it's  a  business  trip  for  Mr.  Lidgerwood, 
and  we  are  here  by  our  own  invitation.  We  must 
make  ourselves  small,  accordingly,  and  not  bother 
him.  Savez  vous?" 

Van  Lew  laughed,  spread  his  long  arms,  and 
swept  them  all  out  toward  the  rear  platform.  But 
Miss  Eleanor  escaped  at  the  door  and  went  back 
to  Lidgerwood. 

"There,  now!"  she  whispered,  "don't  ever  say 
that  I  can't  do  the  really  handsome  thing  when  I 
try.  Can  you  manage  to  work  at  all,  with  these 
chatterers  on  the  car?" 

She  was  steadying  herself  against  the  swing  of 
the  car,  with  one  shapely  hand  on  the  edge  of  the 
desk,  and  he  covered  it  with  one  of  his  own. 

"Yes,  I  can  work,"  he  asserted.  'The  one 
thing  impossible  is  not  to  love  you,  Eleanor.  It's 
hard  enough  when  you  are  unkind;  you  mustn't 
make  it  harder  by  being  what  you  used  always  to 
be  to  me." 

"What  a  lover  you  are  when  you  forget  to  be 
self-conscious!"  she  said  softly;  none  the  less  she 
freed  the  imprisoned  hand  with  a  hasty  little  jerk. 
Then  she  went  on  with  playful  austerity:  "Now 
you  are  to  do  exactly  what  you  were  meaning  to 

306 


At  Silver  Switch 

do  when  you  didn't  know  we  were  coming  with 
you.  Pll  make  them  all  stay  away  from  you  just 
as  long  as  I  can." 

She  kept  her  promise  so  well  that  for  an  indus 
trious  hour  Lidgerwood  scarcely  realized  that  he 
was  not  alone.  For  the  greater  part  of  the  inter 
val  the  sight-seers  were  out  on  the  rear  platform, 
listening  to  Miss  Brewster's  stories  of  the  Red 
Desert.  When  she  had  repeated  all  she  had  ever 
heard,  she  began  to  invent;  and  she  was  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  the  most  blood-curdling  of  the  in 
ventions  when  Lidgerwood,  having  worked  through 
his  bunch  of  papers,  opened  the  door  and  joined 
the  platform  party.  Miss  Brewster's  animation 
died  out  and  her  voice  trailed  away  into — "and 
that's  all;  I  don't  know  the  rest  of  it." 

Lidgerwood's  laugh  was  as  hearty  as  Van  Lew's 
or  the  collegian's. 

"Please  go  on,"  he  teased.     Then  quoting  her: 
"And  after  they  had  shot  up  all  the  peaceable 
people  in  the  town,  they  fell  to  killing  each  other, 
and'— Don't  let  me  spoil  the  dramatic  conclusion." 
'  You  are  the  dramatic  conclusion  to  that  story," 
retorted   Miss    Brewster,    reproachfully.      Where 
upon  she  immediately  wrenched  the  conversation 
aside  into  a  new  channel  by  asking  how  far  it  was 
to  the  canyon  portal. 

307 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Only  a  mile  or  two  now,"  was  LidgerwoocTs 
rejoinder.  "Williams  has  been  making  good 
time."  And  two  minutes  later  the  one-car  train, 
with  the  foaming  torrent  of  the  Timanyoni  for  its 
pathfinder,  plunged  between  the  narrow  walls  of 
the  upper  canyon,  and  the  race  down  the  grade 
of  the  crooked  water-trail  through  the  heart  of  the 
mountains  began. 

There  was  little  chance  for  speech,  even  if  the 
overawing  grandeurs  of  the  stupendous  crevice, 
seen  in  their  most  impressive  presentment  as  al 
ternating  vistas  of  stark,  moonlighted  crags  and 
gulches  and  depths  of  blackest  shadow,  had  en 
couraged  it.  The  hiss  and  whistle  of  the  air 
brakes,  the  harsh,  sustained  note  of  the  shrieking 
wheel-flanges  shearing  the  inner  edges  of  the  rail 
heads  on  the  curves,  and  the  stuttering  roar  of  the 
266's  safety-valve  were  continuous;  a  deafening 
medley  of  sounds  multiplied  a  hundred-fold  by  the 
demoniac  laughter  of  the  echoes. 

Miss  Carolyn  clung  to  the  platform  hand-rail,  and 
once  Lidgerwood  thought  he  surprised  Van  Lew 
with  his  arm  about  her;  thought  it,  and  immedi 
ately  concluded  that  he  was  mistaken.  Miriam 
Holcombe  had  the  opposite  corner  of  the  platform, 
and  Jefferis  was  making  it  his  business  to  see  to  it 
that  she  was  not  entirely  crushed  by  the  grandeurs. 

308 


At  Silver  Switch 

Miss  Brewster,  steadying  herself  by  the  knob 
of  the  closed  door,  was  not  overawed;  she  had 
seen  Rocky  Mountain  canyons  at  their  best  and 
their  worst,  many  times  before.  But  excitement, 
and  the  relaxing  of  the  conventional  leash  that  ac 
companies  it,  roused  the  spirit  of  daring  mockery 
which  was  never  wholly  beyond  call  in  Miss  Brews- 
ter's  mental  processes.  With  her  lips  to  Lidg- 
erwood's  ear  she  said:  "Tell  me,  Howard;  how 
soon  should  a  chaperon  begin  to  make  a  diversion  ? 
I'm  only  an  apprentice,  you  know.  Does  it  occur 
to  you  that  these  young  persons  need  to  be  shocked 
into  a  better  appreciation  of  the  conventions  ?" 

There  was  a  small  Pintsch  globe  in  the  hollow 
of  the  "umbrella  roof,"  with  its  single  burner 
turned  down  to  a  mere  pea  of  light.  Lidgerwood's 
answer  was  to  reach  up  and  flood  the  platform 
with  a  sudden  glow  of  artificial  radiance.  The 
chorus  of  protest  was  immediate  and  reproachful. 
"Oh,  Mr.  Lidgerwood!  don't  spoil  the  perfect 
moonlight  that  way!"  cried  Miss  Doty,  and  the 
others  echoed  the  beseeching. 

'*  You'll  get  used  to  it  in  a  minute,"  asserted 
Lidgerwood,  in  good-natured  sarcasm.  "It  is  so 
dark  here  in  the  canyon  that  I'm  afraid  some  of 
you  might  fall  overboard  or  get  hit  by  the  rocks, 
or  something." 

309 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"The  idea!"  scoffed  Miss  Carolyn.  Then, 
petulantly,  to  Van  Lew:  "We  may  as  well  go  in. 
There  is  nothing  more  to  be  seen  out  here." 

Lidgerwood  looked  to  Eleanor  for  his  cue,  or 
at  least  for  a  whiff  of  moral  support.  But  she 
turned  traitor. 

"You  can  do  the  meanest  things  in  the  name  of 
solicitude,  Howard,"  she  began;  but  before  she 
could  finish  he  had  reached  up  and  turned  the  gas 
off  with  a  snap,  saying,  "All  right;  anything  to 
please  the  children."  After  which,  however,  he 
spoke  authoritatively  to  Van  Lew  and  Jefferis. 
"Don't  let  your  responsibilities  lean  out  over  the 
railing,  you  two.  There  are  places  below  here 
where  the  rocks  barely  give  a  train  room  to 
pass." 

"I'm  not  leaning  out,"  said  Miss  Brewster,  as  if 
she  resented  his  care-taking.  Then,  for  his  ear 
alone:  "  But  I  shall  if  I  want  to." 

"Not  while  I  am  here  to  prevent  you." 

"  But  you  couldn't  prevent  me,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  could." 

"How?" 

The  special  was  rushing  through  the  darkest 
of  the  high-walled  clefts  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
canyon.  "This  way,"  he  said,  his  love  suddenly 
breaking  bounds,  and  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 

310 


At  Silver  Switch 

She  freed  herself  quickly,  breathless  and  indig 
nantly  reproachful. 

"I  am  ashamed  for  you!"  she  panted.  And 
then,  with  carefully  calculated  malice:  "What  if 
Herbert  had  been  looking?" 

"I  shouldn't  care  if  all  the  world  had  been 
looking/'  was  the  stubborn  rejoinder.  Then, 
passionately:  "Tell  me  one  thing  before  we  go  any 
farther,  Eleanor:  have  you  given  him  the  right  to 
call  me  out  ?" 

"How  can  you  doubt  it?"  she  said;  but  now 
she  was  laughing  at  him  again. 

There  was  safety  only  in  flight,  and  he  fled; 
back  to  his  desk  and  the  work  thereon.  He  was 
wading  dismally  through  a  thick  mass  of  corre 
spondence,  relating  to  a  cattleman's  claim  for  stock 
killed,  and  thinking  of  nothing  so  little  as  the  type 
written  words,  when  the  roar  of  the  echoing  canyon 
walls  died  away,  and  the  train  came  to  a  stand  at 
Timanyoni,  the  first  telegraph  station  in  the  shut- 
in  valley  between  the  mountain  ranges.  A  minute 
or  two  later  the  wheels  began  to  revolve  again,  and 
Bradford  came  in. 

"More  maverick  railroading,"  he  said  dis 
gustedly.  "Timanyoni  had  his  red  light  out,  and 
when  I  asked  for  orders  he  said  he  hadn't  any- 
thought  maybe  we'd  want  to  ask  for  'em  ourselves, 
being  as  we  was  running  wild." 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"So  he  thoughtfully  stopped  us  to  give  us  the 
chance!"  snapped  Lidgerwood  in  wrathful  scorn. 
"What  did  you  do?" 

"Oh,  as  long  as  he  had  done  it,  I  had  him  call  up 
the  Angels  despatcher  to  find  out  where  we  were 
at.  We're  on  204/5  time,  you  know—ought  to  have 
met  her  here." 

"Why  didn't  we?"  asked  the  superintendent, 
taking  the  time-card  from  its  pigeon-hole  and 
glancing  at  Train  204/5  schedule. 

"She  was  late  out  of  Red  Butte;  broke  some 
thing  and  had  to  stop  and  tie  it  up;  lost  a  half-hour 
makin'  her  get-away." 

'Then  we  reach  Little  Butte  before  204  gets 
there — is  that  it  ?" 

'That's  about  the  way  the  night  despatcher  has 
it  ciphered  out.  He  gave  the  Timanyoni  plug 
operator  hot  stuff  for  holdin'  us  up." 

Lidgerwood  shook  his  head.  The  artless  sim 
plicity  of  Red-Butte-Western  methods,  or  un- 
methods,  was  dying  hard,  inexcusably  hard. 

"Does   the   night  despatcher  happen   to   know 
just  where  204  is,  at  this  present  moment?"    he 
inquired  with  gentle  irony. 
Bradford  laughed. 

"I'd  be  willing  to  bet  a  piebald  pinto  against  a 
no-account  yaller  dog  that  he  don't.  But  I  reckon 
he  won't  be  likely  to  let  her  get  past  Little  Butte, 

312 


At  Silver  Switch 

comin'  this  way,  when  he  has  let  us  get  by  Tim- 
anyoni  goin'  t'other  way." 

" That's  all  right,  Andy;  that  is  the  way  you 
would  have  a  right  to  figure  it  out  if  you  were  run 
ning  a  special  on  a  normally  healthy  railroad— 
you'd  be  justified  in  running  to  your  next  tele 
graph  station,  regardless.  But  the  Red  Butte 
Western  is  an  abnormally  unhealthy  railroad,  and 
you'd  better  feel  your  way — pretty  carefully,  too. 
From  Point-of-Rocks  you  can  see  well  down  toward 
Little  Butte.  Tell  Williams  to  watch  for  204/8 
headlight,  and  if  he  sees  it,  to  take  the  siding  at 
Silver  Switch,  the  old  Wire-Silver  spur." 

Bradford  nodded,  and  when  Lidgerwood  reim- 
mersed  himself  in  the  cattleman's  claim  papers, 
went  forward  to  share  Williams's  watch  in  the  cab 
of  the  266. 

Twenty  minutes  farther  on,  the  train  slowed 
again,  made  a  momentary  stop,  and  began  to 
screech  and  grind  heavily  around  a  sharp  curve. 
Lidgerwood  looked  out  of  the  window  at  his  right. 
The  moon  had  gone  behind  a  huge  hill,  a  lantern 
was  pricking  a  point  in  the  shadows  some  little  dis 
tance  from  the  track,  and  the  tumultuous  river 
was  no  longer  sweeping  parallel  with  the  embank 
ment.  He  shut  his  desk  and  went  to  the  rear 
platform,  projecting  himself  into  the  group  of 

313 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

sight-seers  just  as  the  train  stopped  for  the  second 


time. 


"Where  are  we  now?"  asked  Miss  Brewster, 
looking  up  at  the  dark  mass  of  the  hill  whose 
forested  ramparts  loomed  black  in  the  near  fore 
ground. 

"At  Silver  Switch,"  replied  Lidgerwood;  and 
when  the  bobbing  lantern  came  nearer  he  called 
to  the  bearer  of  it.  "What  is  it,  Bradford  ?" 

'The    passenger,    I   reckon,"   was  the  answer. 

'Williams  thought  he  saw  it  as  we  came  around 

Point-o'-Rocks,  and  he  was  afraid  the  despatcher 

had  got  balled  up  some  and  let  'em  get  past  Little 

Butte  without  a  meet-order." 

For  a  moment  the  group  on  the  railed  platform 
was  silent,  and  in  the  little  interval  a  low,  humming 
sound  made  itself  felt  rather  than  heard;  a  shud 
dering  murmur,  coming  from  all  points  of  the 
compass  at  once,  as  it  seemed,  and  filling  the  still 
night  air  with  its  vibrations. 

"Williams  was  right!"  rejoined  the  superin 
tended  sharply.  "She's  coming!"  And  even  as 
he  spoke,  the  white  glare  of  an  electric  headlight 
burst  into  full  view  on  the  shelf-like  cutting  along 
the  northern  face  of  the  great  hill,  pricking  out 
the  smallest  details  of  the  waiting  special,  the 
closed  switch,  and  the  gleaming  lines  of  the  rails. 

3H 


At  Silver  Switch 

With  this  powerful  spot-light  to  project  its  cone 
of  dazzling  brilliance  upon  the  scene,  the  watchers 
on  the  railed  platform  of  the  superintendent's 
service-car  saw  every  detail  in  the  swift  outwork 
ing  of  the  tragic  spectacle  for  which  the  hill-facing 
curve  was  the  stage-setting. 

When  the  oncoming  passenger-train  was  within 
three  or  four  hundred  yards  of  the  spur  track 
switch  and  racing  toward  it  at  full  speed,  a  man, 
who  seemed  to  the  onlookers  to  rise  up  out  of  the 
ground  in  the  train's  path,  ran  down  the  track  to 
meet  the  uprushing  headlight,  waving  his  arms 
frantically  in  the  stop  signal.  For  an  instant  that 
seemed  an  age,  the  passenger  engineer  made  no 
sign.  Then  came  a  short,  sharp  whistle-scream, 
a  spewing  of  sparks  from  rail-head  and  tire  at 
the  clip  of  the  emergency  brakes,  a  crash  as  of  the 
ripping  asunder  of  the  mechanical  soul  and  body, 
and  a  wrecked  train  lay  tilted  at  an  angle  of  forty- 
five  degrees  against  the  bank  of  the  hill-side  cutting. 

It  was  a  moment  for  action  rather  than  for 
words,  and  when  he  cleared  the  platform  hand-rail 
and  dropped,  running,  Lidgerwood  was  only  the 
fraction  of  a  second  ahead  of  Van  Lew  and  Jefferis. 
With  Bradford  swinging  his  lantern  for  Williams 
and  his  fireman  to  come  on,  the  four  men  were  at 
the  wreck  before  the  cries  of  fright  and  agony  had 

3*5 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

broken  out  upon  the  awful  stillness  following  the 
crash. 

There  was  quick  work  and  heart-breaking  to  be 
done,  and,  for  the  first  few  critical  minutes,  a  ter 
rible  lack  of  hands  to  do  it.  Cranford,  the  engi 
neer,  was  still  in  his  cab,  pinned  down  by  the  coal 
which  had  shifted  forward  at  the  shock  of  the 
sudden  stop.  In  the  wreck  of  the  tender,  the  iron 
work  of  which  was  rammed  into  shapeless  crum- 
plings  by  the  upreared  trucks  of  the  baggage-car, 
lay  the  fireman,  past  human  help,  as  a  hasty  side- 
swing  of  Bradford's  lantern  showed. 

The  baggage-car,  riding  high  upon  the  crushed 
tender,  was  body-whole,  but  the  smoker,  day- 
coach,  and  sleeper  were  all  more  or  less  shattered, 
with  the  smoking-car  already  beginning  to  blaze 
from  the  broken  lamps.  It  was  a  crisis  to  call  out 
the  best  in  any  gift  of  leadership,  and  Lidger- 
wood's  genius  for  swift  and  effective  organization 
came  out  strong  under  the  hammer-blow  of  the 
occasion. 

"Stay  here  with  Bradford  and  Jefferis,  and  get 
that  engineer  out!"  he  called  to  Van  Lew.  Then, 
with  arms  outspread,  he  charged  down  upon  the 
train's  company,  escaping  as  it  could  through  the 
broken  windows  of  the  cars.  :'This  way,  every 
man  of  you!"  he  yelled,  his  shout  dominating  the 


At  Silver  Switch 

clamor  of  cries,  crashing  glass,  and  hissing  steam. 
"The  fire's  what  we've  got  to  fight!  Line  up 
down  to  the  river,  and  pass  water  in  anything  you 
can  get  hold  of!  Here,  Groner" — to  the  train  con 
ductor,  who  was  picking  himself  up  out  of  the 
ditch  into  which  the  shock  had  thrown  him — "send 
somebody  to  the  Pullman  for  blankets.  Jump  for 
it,  man,  before  this  fire  gets  headway!" 

Luckily,  there  were  by  this  time  plenty  of  willing 
hands  to  help.  The  Timanyoni  is  a  man's  coun 
try,  and  there  were  feV  women  in  the  train's  pas 
senger  list.  Quickly  a  line  was  formed  to  the 
near-by  margin  of  the  river,  and  water,  in  hats,  in 
buckets  improvised  out  of  pieces  of  tin  torn  from 
the  wrecked  car-roofs,  in  saturated  coats,  cushion 
covers,  and  Pullman  blankets,  hissed  upon  the  fire, 
beat  it  down,  and  presently  extinguished  it. 

Then  the  work  of  extricating  the  imprisoned 
ones  began,  light  for  it  being  obtained  by  the  back 
ing  of  Williams's  engine  to  the  main  line  above  the 
switch  so  that  the  headlight  played  upon  the  scene. 

Lidgerwood  was  fairly  in  the  thick  of  the  rescue 
work  when  Miss  Brewster,  walking  down  the  track 
from  the  service-car  and  bringing  the  two  young 
women  who  were  afraid  to  be  left  behind,  launched 
herself  and  her  companions  into  the  midst  of  the 
nerve-racking  horror. 

317 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Give  us  something  to  do/'  she  commanded, 
when  he  would  have  sent  them  back;  and  he 
changed  his  mind  and  set  them  at  work  binding 
up  wounds  and  caring  for  the  injured  quite  as  if 
they  had  been  trained  nurses  sent  from  heaven  at 
the  opportune  moment. 

In  a  very  little  time  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  disaster  were  fully  known,  and  its  conse 
quences  alleviated,  so  far  as  they  might  be  with  the 
means  at  hand.  There  were  three  killed  outright 
in  the  smoker,  two  in  the  half-filled  day-coach,  and 
none  in  the  sleeper;  six  in  all,  including  the  fire 
man  pinned  beneath  the  wreck  of  the  tender. 
Cranford,  the  engineer,  was  dug  out  of  his  coal- 
covered  grave  by  Van  Lew  and  JefFeris,  badly 
burned  and  bruised,  but  still  living;  and  there 
were  a  score  of  other  woundings,  more  or  less 
dreadful. 

Red  Butte  was  the  nearest  point  from  which  a 
relief-train  could  be  sent,  and  Lidgerwood  prompt 
ly  cut  the  telegraph  wire,  connected  his  pocket 
set  of  instruments,  and  sent  in  the  call  for  help. 
That  done  he  transferred  the  pocket  relay  to  the 
other  end  of  the  cut  wire,  and  called  up  the  night 
despatcher  at  Angels.  Fortunately,  McCloskey 
and  Dawson  were  just  in  with  the  two  wrecking- 
trains  from  the  Crosswater  Hills,  and  the  super- 

318 


At  Silver  Switch 

intendent  ordered  Dawson  to  come  out  immedi 
ately  with  his  train  and  a  fresh  crew,  if  it  could 
be  obtained. 

Dawson  took  the  wire  and  replied  in  person. 
His  crew  was  good  for  another  tussle,  he  said,  and 
his  train  was  still  in  readiness.  He  would  start 
west  at  once,  or  the  moment  the  despatcher  could 
clear  for  him,  and  would  be  at  Silver  Switch  as 
soon  as  the  intervening  miles  would  permit. 

Eleanor  Brewster  and  her  guests  were  grouped 
beside  Lidgerwood  when  he  disconnected  the 
pocket  set  from  the  cut  wire,  and  temporarily  re 
paired  the  break.  The  service-car  had  been  turned 
into  a  make-shift  hospital  for  the  wounded,  and  the 
car-party  was  homeless. 

"We  are  all  waiting  to  say  how  sorry  we  are  that 
we  insisted  on  coming  and  thus  adding  to  your 
responsibilities,  Howard,"  said  the  president's 
daughter,  and  now  there  was  no  trace  of  mockery 
in  her  voice. 

His  answer  was  entirely  sympathetic  and  grate 
ful. 

"I'm  only  sorry  that  you  have  been  obliged  to 
see  and  take  part  in  such  a  frightful  horror,  that's 
all.  As  for  your  being  in  the  way — it's  quite  the 
other  thing.  Cranford  owes  his  life  to  Mr.  Van 
Lew  and  Jefferis;  and  as  for  you  three,"  includ- 

319 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

ing  Eleanor  and  the  two  young  women,  "your  work 
is  beyond  any  praise  of  mine.  I'm  anxious  now 
merely  because  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  you 
while  we  wait  for  the  relief-train  to  come." 

"Ignore  us  completely,"  said  Eleanor  promptly. 
"We  are  going  over  to  that  little  level  place  by  the 
side-track  and  make  us  a  camp-fire.  We  were 
just  waiting  to  be  comfortably  forgiven  for  having 
burdened  you  with  a  pleasure  party  at  such  a 


time." 


"We  couldn't  foresee  this,  any  of  us,"  he  made 
haste  to  say.  "Now,  if  you'll  do  what  you  sug 
gested — go  and  build  a  fire  to  wait  by  ? — I  hope 
it  won't  be  very  long." 

Freed  of  the  more  crushing  responsibilities, 
Lidgerwood  found  Bradford  and  Groner,  and  with 
the  two  conductors  went  down  the  track  to  the 
point  of  derailment  to  make  the  technical  investi 
gation  of  causes. 

Ordinarily,  the  mere  fact  of  a  destructive  derail 
ment  leaves  little  to  be  discovered  when  the  cause 
is  sought  afterward.  But,  singularly  enough,  the 
curved  track  was  torn  up  only  on  the  side  toward 
the  hill;  the  outer  rail  was  still  in  place,  and  the 
cross-ties,  deeply  bedded  in  the  hard  gravel  of 
the  cutting,  showed  only  the  surface  mutilation  of 
the  grinding  wheels. 

320 


At  Silver  Switch 

"Broken  flange  under  the  215,  I'll  bet,"  said 
Groner,  holding  his  lantern  down  to  the  gashed 
ties.  But  Bradford  denied  it. 

"No,"  he  contradicted:  "Cranford  was  able  to 
talk  a  little  after  we  toted  him  back  to  the  service- 
car.  He  says  it  was  a  broken  rail;  says  he  saw  it 
and  saw  the  man  that  was  flaggin'  him  down,  all 
in  good  time  to  give  her  the  air  before  he  hit  it." 

"What  man  was  that?"  asked  Groner,  whose 
point  of  view  had  not  been  that  of  an  onlooker. 

Lidgerwood  answered  for  himself  and  Bradford. 

"That  is  one  of  the  things  we'd  like  to  know, 
Groner.  Just  before  the  smash  a  man,  whom 
none  of  us  recognized,  ran  down  the  track  and 
tried  to  give  Cranford  the  stop  signal." 

They  had  been  walking  on  down  the  line,  look 
ing  for  the  actual  point  of  derailment.  When  it 
was  found,  it  proved  Cranford's  assertion — in  part. 
There  was  a  gap  in  the  rail  on  the  river  side  of  the 
line,  but  it  was  not  a  fracture.  At  one  of  the  joints 
the  fish-plates  were  missing,  and  the  rail-ends  were 
sprung  apart  sidewise  sufficiently  to  let  the  wheel 
flanges  pass  through.  Groner  went  down  on  his 
hands  and  knees  with  the  lantern  held  low,  and 
made  another  discovery. 

'This  ain't  no  happen-so,  Mr.  Lidgerwood," 
he  said,  when  he  got  up.  "The  spikes  are  pulled ! " 

321 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Lidgerwood  said  nothing.  There  are  discov 
eries  which  are  beyond  speech.  But  he  stooped 
to  examine  for  himself.  Groner  was  right.  For 
a  distance  of  eight  or  ten  feet  the  rail  had  been 
loosened,  and  the  spikes  were  gone  out  of  the  cor 
responding  cross-ties.  After  it  was  loosened,  the 
rail  had  been  sprung  aside,  and  the  bit  of  rock  in 
serted  between  the  parted  ends  to  keep  them  from 
springing  together  was  still  in  place. 

Lidgerwood's  eyes  were  bloodshot  when  he  rose 
and  said: 

"I'd  like  to  ask  you  two  men,  as  men,  what  devil 
out  of  hell  would  set  a  trap  like  this  for  a  train-load 
of  unoffending  passengers  ?" 

Bradford's  slow  drawl  dispelled  a  little  of  the 
mystery. 

"It  wasn't  meant  for  Groner  and  his  passenger- 
wagons,  I  reckon.  In  the  natural  run  of  things,  it 
was  the  266  and  the  service-car  that  ought  to  've 
hit  this  thing  first — 204  bein'  supposed  to  be  a 
half-hour  off  her  schedule.  It  was  aimed  for  us, 
all  right  enough.  And  it  wasn't  meant  to  throw  us 
into  the  hill,  neither.  If  we'd  hit  it  goin'  west, 
we'd  be  in  the  river.  That's  why  it  was  sprung 
out  instead  of  in." 

Lidgerwood's  right  hand,  balled  into  a  fist,  smote 
the  air,  and  his  outburst  was  a  fierce  imprecation. 

322 


At  Silver  Switch 

In  the  midst  of  it  Groner  said,  "Listen!"  and  a 
moment  later  a  man,  walking  rapidly  up  the  track 
from  the  direction  of  Little  Butte  station,  came 
into  the  small  circle  of  lantern-light.  Groner 
threw  the  light  on  the  new-comer,  revealing  a 
haggard  face — the  face  of  the  owner  of  the  Wire- 
Silver  mine. 

"Heavens  and  earth,  Mr.  Lidgerwood — this  is 
awful!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  heard  of  it  by  'phone, 
and  hurried  over  to  do  what  I  could.  My  men  of 
the  night-shift  are  on  the  way,  walking  up  the 
track,  and  the  entire  Wire-Silver  outfit  is  at  your 
disposal." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  a  little  late,  Mr.  Flemister," 
was  Lidgerwood's  rejoinder,  unreasoning  antago 
nism  making  the  words  sound  crisp  and  ungrate 
ful.  "Half  an  hour  ago " 

"Yes,  certainly;  Goodloe  should  have  'phoned 
me,  if  he  knew,"  cut  in  the  mine-owner.  "Any 
body  hurt?" 

"Half  of  the  number  involved,  and  six  dead," 
said  the  superintendent  soberly;  then  the  four  of 
them  walked  slowly  and  in  silence  up  the  track 
toward  the  two  camp-fires,  where  the  unhurt  sur 
vivors  and  the  service-car's  guests  were  fighting 
the  chill  of  the  high-mountain  midnight. 


323 


XIX 

THE    CHALLENGE 

EDGERWOOD  was  unpleasantly  surprised 
to  find  that  the  president's  daughter  knew 
the  man  whom  her  father  had  tersely  characterized 
as  "a  born  gentleman  and  a  born  buccaneer,"  but 
the  fact  remained.  When  he  came  with  Flemister 
into  the  circle  of  light  cast  by  the  smaller  of  the  two 
fires,  Miss  Brewster  not  only  welcomed  the  mine- 
owner;  she  immediately  introduced  him  to  her 
friends,  and  made  room  for  him  on  the  flat  stone 
which  served  her  for  a  seat. 

Lidgerwood  sat  on  a  tie-end  a  little  apart,  mo 
rosely  observant.  It  is  the  curse  of  the  self-con 
scious  soul  to  find  itself  often  at  the  meeting-point 
of  comparisons.  The  superintendent  knew  Flem 
ister  a  little,  as  he  had  admitted  to  the  president; 
and  he  also  knew  that  some  of  his  evil  qualities 
were  of  the  sort  which  appeal,  by  the  law  of  oppo- 
sites,  to  the  normal  woman,  the  woman  who  would 
condemn  evil  in  the  abstract,  perhaps,  only  to  be 
irresistibly  drawn  by  some  of  its  purely  masculine 

324 


The  Challenge 

manifestations.  The  cynical  assertion  that  the 
worst  of  men  can  win  the  love  of  the  best  of 
women  is  something  both  more  and  less  than  a 
mere  contradiction  of  terms;  and  since  Eleanor 
Brewster's  manly  ideal  was  apparently  builded 
upon  physical  courage  as  its  pedestal,  Flemister, 
in  his  dare-devil  character,  was  quite  likely  to  be 
the  man  to  embody  it. 

But  just  now  the  "gentleman  buccaneer"  was 
not  living  up  to  the  full  measure  of  his  reputation 
in  the  dare-devil  field,  as  Lidgerwood  was  not  slow 
to  observe.  His  replies  to  Miss  Brewster  and  the 
others  were  not  always  coherent,  and  his  face,  seen 
in  the  flickering  firelight,  was  almost  ghastly. 
True,  the  talk  was  low-toned  and  fragmentary; 
desultory  enough  to  require  little  of  any  member 
of  the  group  sitting  around  the  smouldering  fire  on 
the  spur  embankment.  Death,  in  any  form,  insists 
upon  its  rights,  of  silence  and  of  respect,  and  the 
six  motionless  figures  lying  under  the  spread  Pull 
man-car  sheets  on  the  other  side  of  the  spur  track 
were  not  to  be  ignored. 

Yet  Lidgerwood  fancied  that  of  the  group 
circling  the  fire,  Flemister  was  the  one  whose  eyes 
turned  oftenest  toward  the  sheeted  figures  across 
the  track;  sometimes  in  morbid  starings,  but  now 
and  again  with  the  haggard  side-glance  of  fear. 

325 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Why  was  the  mine-owner  afraid  ?  Lidgerwood 
analyzed  the  query  shrewdly.  Was  he  implicated 
in  the  matter  of  the  loosened  rail  ?  Remembering 
that  the  trap  had  been  set,  not  for  the  passenger 
train,  but  for  the  special,  the  superintendent  dis 
missed  the  charge  against  Flemister.  Thus  far 
he  had  done  little  to  incur  the  mine-owner's  enmity 
—at  least,  nothing  to  call  for  cold-blooded  murder 
in  reprisal.  Yet  the  man  was  acting  very  curiously. 
Much  of  the  time  he  scarcely  appeared  to  hear 
what  Miss  Brewster  was  saying  to  him.  More 
over,  he  had  lied.  Lidgerwood  recalled  his  glib 
explanation  at  the  meeting  beside  the  displaced 
rail.  Flemister  claimed  to  have  had  the  news  of 
the  disaster  by  'phone:  where  had  he  been  when 
the  'phone  message  found  him  ?  Not  at  his  mine, 
Lidgerwood  decided,  since  he  could  not  have 
walked  from  the  Wire-Silver  to  the  wreck  in  an 
hour.  It  was  all  very  puzzling,  and  what  little 
suppositional  evidence  there  was,  was  conflicting. 
Lidgerwood  put  the  query  aside  finally,  but  with 
a  mental  reservation.  Later  he  would  go  into  this 
newest  mystery  and  probe  it  to  the  bottom.  Judson 
would  doubtless  have  a  report  to  make,  and  this 
might  help  in  the  probing. 

Fortunately,  the  waiting  interval  was  not  greatly 
prolonged;    fortunately,  since  for  the  three  young 

326 


The  Challenge 

women  the  reaction  was  come  and  the  full  horror 
of  the  disaster  was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt. 
Lidgerwood  contrived  the  necessary  diversion  when 
the  relief-train  from  Red  Butte  shot  around  the 
curve  of  the  hillside  cutting.  v 

"Van  Lew,  suppose  you  and  Jefferis  take  the 

women  out  of  the  way  for  a  few  minutes,  while  we 

are  making   the  transfer,"  he  suggested   quietly. 

'There  are  enough  of  us  to  do  the  work,  and  we 

can  spare  you." 

This  left  Flemister  unaccounted  for,  but  with  a 
very  palpable  effort  he  shook  himself  free  from  the 
spell  of  whatever  had  been  shackling  him. 

''That's  right,"  he  assented  briskly.  "I  was 
just  going  to  suggest  that."  Then,  indicating  the 
men  pouring  out  of  the  relief  train:  "I  see  that  my 
buckies  have  come  up  on  your  train  to  lend  a  hand; 
command  us  just  the  same  as  if  we  belonged  to  you. 
That  is  what  we  are  here  for." 

Van  Lew  and  the  collegian  walked  the  three 
young  women  a  little  way  up  the  old  spur  while 
the  wrecked  train's  company,  the  living,  the  in 
jured,  and  the  dead,  were  transferring  down  the 
line  to  the  relief-train  to  be  taken  back  to  Red 
Butte.  Flemister  helped  with  the  other  helpers, 
but  Lidgerwood  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that 
the  man  was  always  at  his  elbow;  he  was  certainly 

327 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

there  when  the  last  of  the  wounded  had  been  car 
ried  around  the  wreck,  and  the  relief-train  was 
ready  to  back  away  to  Little  Butte,  where  it  could 
be  turned  upon  the  mine-spur  "  Y."  It  was  while 
the  conductor  of  the  train  was  gathering  his  vol 
unteers  for  departure  that  Flemister  said  what  he 
had  apparently  been  waiting  for  a  chance  to  say. 

"I  can't  help  feeling  indirectly  responsible  for 
this,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,"  he  began,  with  something 
like  a  return  of  his  habitual  self-possession.  "If  I 
hadn't  asked  you  to  come  over  here  to-night— 

Lidgerwood  interrupted  sharply:  "What  pos 
sible  difference  would  that  have  made,  Mr.  Flem 
ister?" 

It  was  not  a  special  weakness  of  Flemister's  to 
say  the  damaging  thing  under  pressure  of  the  un 
toward  and  unanticipated  event;  it  is  rather  a 
common  failing  of  human  nature.  In  a  flash  he 
appeared  to  realize  that  he  had  admitted  too 
much. 

"Why — I  understood  that  it  was  the  unex 
pected  sight  of  your  special  standing  on  the  'Y' 
that  made  the  passenger  engineer  lose  his  head," 
he  countered  lamely,  evidently  striving  to  recover 
himself  and  to  efface  the  damaging  admission. 

It  chanced  that  they  were  standing  directly 
opposite  the  break  in  the  track  where  the  rail  ends 

328 


The  Challenge 

were  still  held  apart  by  the  small  stone.  Lidger- 
wood  pointed  to  the  loosened  rail,  plainly  visible 
under  the  volleying  play  of  the  two  opposing  head 
lights. 

:<  There  is  the  cause  of  the  disaster,  Mr.  Flem- 
ister,"  he  said  hotly;  "a  trap  set,  not  for  the  pas 
senger-train,  but  for  rny  special.  Somebody  set  it; 
somebody  who  knew  almost  to  a  minute  when  we 
should  reach  it.  Mr.  Flemister,  let  me  tell  you 
something:  I  don't  care  any  more  for  my  own 
life  than  a  sane  man  ought  to  care,  but  the  mur 
dering  devil  who  pulled  the  spikes  on  that  rail 
reached  out,  unconsciously  perhaps,  but  none  the 
less  certainly,  after  a  life  that  I  would  safe-guard 
at  the  price  of  my  own.  Because  he  did  that,  I'll 
spend  the  last  dollar  of  the  fortune  my  father  left 
me,  if  needful,  in  finding  that  man  and  hanging 
him!" 

It  was  the  needed  flick  of  the  whip  for  the  shaken 
nerve  of  the  mine-owner. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "I  am  sure  every  one  will  ap 
plaud  that  determination,  Mr.  Lidgerwood;  ap 
plaud  it,  and  help  you  to  see  it  through."  And 
then,  quite  as  calmly:  "I  suppose  you  will  go  back 
from  here  with  your  special,  won't  you  ?  You 
can't  get  down  to  Little  Butte  until  the  track  is 
repaired,  and  the  wreck  cleared.  Your  going 

329 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

back  will  make  no  difference  in  the  right-of-way 
matter;  I  can  arrange  for  a  meeting  with  Grofield 
at  any  time — in  Angels,  if  you  prefer." 

"Yes,"  said  Lidgerwood  absently,  "I  am  going 
back  from  here." 

"Then  I  guess  I  may  as  well  ride  down  to  my 
jumping-off  place  with  my  men;  you  don't  need 
us  any  longer.  Make  my  adieux  to  Miss  Brew- 
ster  and  the  young  ladies,  will  you,  please  ?" 

Lidgerwood  stood  at  the  break  in  the  track  for 
some  minutes  after  the  retreating  relief-train  had 
disappeared  around  the  steep  shoulder  of  the  great 
hill;  was  still  standing  there  when  Bradford, 
having  once  more  side-tracked  the  service-car  on 
the  abandoned  mine  spur,  came  down  to  ask  for 
orders. 

"We'll  hold  the  siding  until  Dawson  shows  up 
with  the  wrecking-train,"  was  the  superintend 
ent's  reply.  "He  ought  to  be  here  before  long. 
Where  are  Miss  Brewster  and  her  friends  ?" 

"They  are  all  up  at  the  bonfire.  I'm  having  the 
Jap  launder  the  car  a  little  before  they  move  in." 

There  was  another  interval  of  delay,  and  Lidg 
erwood  held  aloof  from  the  group  at  the  fire,  pacing 
a  slow  sentry  beat  up  and  down  beside  the  ditched 
train,  and  pausing  at  either  turn  to  listen  for  the 
signal  of  Dawson's  coming.  It  sounded  at  length: 

330 


The  Challenge 

a  series  of  shrill  whistle-shrieks,  distance-softened, 
and  presently  the  drumming  of  hasting  wheels. 

The  draftsman  was  on  the  engine  of  the  wreck 
ing-train,  and  he  dropped  off  to  join  the  superin 
tendent. 

"Not  so  bad  for  my  part  of  it,  this  time,"  was 
his  comment,  when  he  had  looked  the  wreck  over. 
Then  he  asked  the  inevitable  question:  "What 
did  it?" 

Lidgerwood  beckoned  him  down  the  line  and 
showed  him  the  sprung  rail.  Dawson  examined 
it  carefully  before  he  rose  up  to  say:  "Why  didn't 
they  spring  it  the  other  way,  if  they  wanted  to 
make  a  thorough  job  of  it  ?  That  would  have 
put  the  train  into  the  river." 

Lidgerwood's  reply  was  as  laconic  as  the  query. 
"Because  the  trap  was  set  for  my  car,  going  west; 
not  for  the  passenger,  going  east." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  draftsman,  as  one  prop 
erly  disgusted  with  his  own  lack  of  perspicacity. 
Then,  after  another  and  more  searching  scrutiny, 
in  which  the  headlight  glare  of  his  own  engine 
was  helped  out  by  the  burning  of  half  a  dozen 
matches:  "Whoever  did  that,  knew  his  business." 

"How  do  you  know  ?" 

"Little  things.  A  regular  spike-puller  claw- 
bar  was  used — the  marks  of  its  heel  are  still  in 

331 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

the  ties;  the  place  was  chosen  to  the  exact  rail- 
length — just  where  your  engine  would  begin  to 
hug  the  outside  of  the  curve.  Then  the  rail  is 
sprung  aside  barely  enough  to  let  the  wheel 
flanges  through,  and  not  enough  to  attract  an  en 
gineer's  attention  unless  he  happened  to  be  looking 
directly  at  it,  and  in  a  good  light." 

The  superintendent  nodded.  "What  is  your 
inference?"  he  asked. 

"Only  what  I  say;  that  the  man  knew  his 
business.  He  is  no  ordinary  hobo;  he  is  more 
likely  in  your  class,  or  mine." 

Lidgerwood  ground  his  heel  into  the  gravel,  and 
with  the  feeling  that  he  was  wasting  precious  time 
of  Dawson's  which  should  go  into  the  track-clear 
ing,  asked  another  question. 

"Fred,  tell  me;  you've  known  John  Judson 
longer  than  I  have:  do  you  trust  him — when  he's 
sober?" 

"Yes."     The  answer  was  unqualified. 

"I  think  I  do,  but  he  talks  too  much.  He  is 
over  here,  somewhere,  to-night,  shadowing  the 
man  who  may  have  done  this.  He — and  the  man- 
came  down  on  205  this  evening.  I  saw  them  both 
board  the  train  at  Angels  as  it  was  pulling  out." 

Dawson  looked  up  quickly,  and  for  once  the  reti 
cence  which  was  his  customary  shield  was  dropped. 

332 


The  Challenge 

"You're  trusting  me,  now,  Mr.  Lidgerwood: 
who  was  the  man  ?  Gridley  ? " 

"Gridley?  No.  Why,  Dawson,  he  is  the  last 
man  I  should  suspect!" 

"All  right;  if  you  think  so." 

"Don't  you  think  so?" 

It  was  the  draftsman's  turn  to  hesitate. 

"I'm  prejudiced,"  he  confessed  at  length.  "I 
know  Gridley;  he  is  a  worse  man  than  a  good 
many  people  think  he  is — and  not  so  bad  as  some 
others  believe  him  to  be.  If  he  thought  you,  or 
Benson,  were  getting  in  his  way — up  at  the  house, 
you  know — 

Lidgerwood  smiled. 

"You  don't  want  him  for  a  brother-in-law;  is 
that  it,  Fred?" 

"I'd  cheerfully  help  to  put  my  sister  in  her 
coffin,  if  that  were  the  alternative,"  said  Dawson 
quite  calmly. 

"Well,"  said  the  superintendent,  "he  can  easily 
prove  an  alibi,  so  far  as  this  wreck  is  concerned. 
He  went  east  on  202  yesterday.  You  knew  that, 
didn't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  knew  it,  but- 

" But  what?" 

"It  doesn't  count,"  said  the  draftsman,  briefly. 
Then:  "Who  was  the  other  man,  the  man  who 
came  west  on  205  ? " 

333 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"I  hate  to  say  it,  Fred,  but  it  was  Hallock.  We 
saw  the  wreck,  all  of  us,  from  the  back  platform 
cf  my  car.  Williams  had  just  pulled  us  out  on  the 
old  spur.  Just  before  Cranford  shut  off  and 
jammed  on  his  air-brakes,  a  man  ran  down  the 
track,  swinging  his  arms  like  a  madman.  Of 
course,  there  wasn't  the  time  or  any  chance  for  me 
to  identify  him,  and  I  saw  him  only  for  the  second 
or  two  intervening,  and  with  his  back  toward  us. 
But  the  back  looked  like  Hallock's;  I'm  afraid  it 
was  Hallock's." 

"  But  why  should  he  weaken  at  the  last  moment 
and  try  to  stop  the  train  ?"  queried  Dawson. 

"You  forget  that  it  was  the  special,  and  not  the 
passenger,  that  was  to  be  wrecked/' 

"Sure,"  said  the  draftsman. 

"I've  told  you  this,  Fred,  because,  if  the  man 
we  saw  were  Hallock,  he'll  probably  turn  up 
while  you  are  at  work;  Hallock,  with  Judson  at 
his  heels.  You'll  know  what  to  do  in  that  event  ?" 

"I  guess  so:  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  Hallock,  and 
make  Judson  hold  his  tongue.  I'll  do  both." 

'That's  all,"  said  the  superintendent.  "Now 
I'll  have  Bradford  pull  us  up  on  the  spur  to  give 
you  room  to  get  your  baby  crane  ahead;  then  you 
can  pull  down  and  let  us  out." 

The  shifting  took  some  few  minutes,  and  more 
than  a  little  skill.  While  it  was  in  progress  Lidg- 

334 


The  Challenge 

erwood  was  in  the  service-car,  trying  to  persuade 
the  young  women  to  go  to  his  state-room  for  a 
little  rest  and  sleep  on  the  return  run.  In  the 
midst  of  the  argument,  the  door  opened  and  Daw- 
son  came  in.  From  the  instant  of  his  entrance  it 
was  plain  that  he  had  expected  to  find  the  super 
intendent  alone;  that  he  was  visibly  and  painfully 
embarrassed. 

Lidgerwood  excused  himself  and  went  quickly 
to  the  embarrassed  one,  who  was  still  anchoring 
himself  to  the  door-knob.  "What  is  it,  Fred?" 
he  asked. 

"Judson:  he  has  just  turned  up,  walking  from 
Little  Butte,  he  says,  with  a  pretty  badly  bruised 
ankle.  He  is  loaded  to  the  muzzle  with  news  of 
some  sort,  and  he  wants  to  know  if  you'll  take  him 
with  you  to  An—  The  draftsman,  facing  the 
group  under  the  Pintsch  globe  at  the  other  end  of 
the  open  compartment,  stopped  suddenly  and  his 
big  jaw  grew  rigid.  Then  he  said,  in  an  awed 
whisper,  "God!  let  me  get  out  of  here!" 

"Tell  Judson  to  come  aboard,"  said  Lidger 
wood;  and  the  draftsman  was  twisting  at  the 
door-knob  when  Miriam  Holcombe  came  swiftly 
down  the  compartment. 

"Wait,  Fred,"  she  said  gently.  "I  have  come 
all  the  way  out  here  to  ask  my  question,  and  you 

335 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

mustn't  try  to  stop  me:  are  you  going  to  keep  on 
letting  it  make  us  both  desolate — for  always?" 
She  seemed  not  to  see  or  to  care  that  Lidgerwood 
made  a  listening  third. 

Dawson's  face  had  grown  suddenly  haggard, 
and  he,  too,  ignored  the  superintendent. 

"How  can  you  say  that  to  me,  Miriam?"  he 
returned  almost  gruffly.  "Day  and  night  I  am 
paying,  paying,  and  the  debt  never  grows  less.  If 
it  wasn't  for  my  mother  and  Faith  .  .  .  but  I  must 
go  on  paying.  I  killed  your  brother— 

"No,"  she  denied,  "that  was  an  accident  for 
which  you  were  no  more  to  blame  than  he  was: 
but  you  are  killing  me." 

Lidgerwood  stood  by,  man-like,  because  he  did 
not  know  enough  to  vanish.  But  Miss  Brewster 
suddenly  swept  down  the  compartment  to  drag 
him  out  of  the  way  of  those  who  did  not  need 
him. 

"  You'd  spoil  it  all,  if  you  could,  wouldn't  you  ?" 
she  whispered,  in  a  fine  feminine  rage;  "and  after 
I  have  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  get  Miriam  to 
come  out  here  for  this  one  special  blessed  moment! 
Go  and  drive  the  others  into  a  corner,  and  keep 
them  there." 

Lidgerwood  obeyed,  quite  meekly;  and  when 
he  looked  again,  Dawson  had  gone,  and  Miss  Hol- 

336 


The  Challenge 

combe  was  sobbing  comfortably  in  Eleanor's 
arms. 

Judson  boarded  the  service-car  when  it  was 
pulled  up  to  the  switch;  and  after  Lidgerwood 
had  disposed  of  his  passengers  for  the  run  back  to 
Angels,  he  listened  to  the  ex-engineer's  report,  sit 
ting  quietly  while  Judson  told  him  of  the  plot  and 
of  the  plotters.  At  the  close  he  said  gravely:  "You 
are  sure  it  was  Hallock  who  got  off  of  the  night 
train  at  Silver  Switch  and  went  up  the  old  spur  ?" 

It  was  a  test  question,  and  the  engineer  did  not 
answer  it  off-hand. 

"  I'd  say  yes  in  a  holy  minute  if  there  wasn't  so 
blamed  much  else  tied  on  to  it,  Mr.  Lidgerwood. 
I  was  sure,  at  the  time,  that  it  was  Hallock;  and 
besides,  I  heard  him  talking  to  Flemister  afterward, 
and  I  saw  his  mug  shadowed  out  on  the  window 
curtain,  just  as  I've  been  telling  you.  All  I  can 
say  crosswise,  is  that  I  didn't  get  to  see  him  face 
to  face  anywhere;  in  the  gulch,  or  in  the  office,  or 
in  the  mine,  or  any  place  else." 

'Yet  you  are  convinced,  in  your  own  mind  ?" 

"I  am." 

'You  say  you  saw  him  and  Flemister  get  on  the 
hand-car  and  pump  themselves  down  the  old  spur; 
of  course,  you  couldn't  identify  either  of  them 
from  the  top  of  the  ridge  ?" 

337 


The  Taming  <pf  Red  Butte  Western 

"  That's  a  guess,"  admitted  the  ex-engineer 
frankly.  "All  I  could  see  was  that  there  were  two 
men  on  the  car.  But  it  fits  in  pretty  good :  I  hear 
'em  plannin'  what-all  they're  going  to  do;  foller 
'em  a  good  bit  more'n  half-way  through  the  mine 
tunnel;  hike  back  and  hump  myself  over  the  hill, 
and  get  there  in  time  to  see  two  men — some  two 
men — rushin'  out  the  hand-car  to  go  somewhere. 
That  ain't  court  evidence,  maybe,  but  I've  seen 
more'n  one  jury  that'd  hang  both  of  'em  on  it." 

"But  the  third  man,  Judson;  the  man  you  saw 
beating  with  his  fists  on  the  bulkhead  air-lock: 
who  was  he  ?"  persisted  Lidgerwood. 

"Now  you've  got  me  guessin'  again.  If  I 
hadn't  been  dead  certain  that  I  saw  Hallock  go  on 
ahead  with  Flemister — but  I  did  see  him;  saw 'em 
both  go  through  the  little  door,  one  after  the  other, 
and  heard  it  slam  before  the  other  dub  turned  up. 
No,"  reading  the  question  in  the  superintendent's 
eye,  "not  a  drop,  Mr.  Lidgerwood;  I  ain't  touched 
not,  tasted  not,  n'r  handled  not — 'r  leastwise,  not 
to  drink  any,"  and  here  he  told  the  bottle  episode 
which  had  ended  in  the  smashing  of  Flemister's 
sideboard  supply. 

Lidgerwood  nodded  approvingly  when  the  mod 
est  narrative  reached  the  bottle-smashing  point. 

"That  was  fine,  John,"  he  said,  using  the  ex- 

338 


The  Challenge 

engineer's  Christian  name  for  the  first  time  in  the 
long  interview.  "If  you've  got  it  in  you  to  do 
such  a  thing  as  that,  at  such  a  time,  there  is  good 
hope  for  you.  Let's  settle  this  question  once  for 
all:  ail  I  ask  is  that  you  prove  up  on  your  good 
intentions.  Show  me  that  you  have  quit,  not  for 
a  day  or  a  week,  but  for  all  time,  and  I  shall  be 
only  too  glad  to  see  you  pulling  passenger-trains 
again.  But  to  get  back  to  this  crime  of  to-night: 
when  you  left  Flemister' s  office,  after  telephoning 
Goodloe,  you  walked  down  to  Little  Butte  sta 
tion?" 

"Yes;  walked  and  run.  There  was  nobody 
there  but  the  bridge  watchman.  Goodloe  had 
come  on  up  the  track  to  find  out  what  had  hap 
pened." 

"And  you  didn't  see  Flemister  or  Hallock 
again  ? " 

"No." 

"Flemister  told  us  he  got  the  news  by  'phone, 
and  when  he  said  it  the  wreck  was  no  more  than 
an  hour  old.  He  couldn't  have  walked  down 
from  the  mine  in  that  time.  Where  could  he  have 
got  the  message,  and  from  whom  ?" 

Judson  was  shaking  his  head. 

"He  didn't  need  any  message — and  he  didn't 
get  any.  I'd  put  it  up  this  way:  after  that  rail- 

339 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

joint  was  sprung  open,  they'd  go  back  up  the  old 
spur  on  the  hand-car,  wouldn't  they  ?  And  on  the 
way  they'd  be  pretty  sure  to  hear  Cranford  when 
he  whistled  for  Little  Butte.  That'd  let  'em  know 
what  was  due  to  happen,  right  then  and  there. 
After  that,  it'd  be  easy  enough.  All  Flemister 
had  to  do  was  to  rout  out  his  miners  over  his  own 
telephones,  jump  onto  the  hand-car  again,  and 
come  back  in  time  to  show  up  to  you." 

Lidgerwood  was  frowning  thoughtfully. 

'Then  both  of  them  must  have  come  back;  or, 
no — that  must  have  been  your  third  man  who  tried 
to  flag  Cranford  down.  Judson,  I've  got  to  know 
who  that  third  man  is.  He  has  complicated 
things  so  that  I  don't  dare  move,  even  against 
Flemister,  until  I  know  more.  We  are  not  at  the 
ultimate  bottom  of  this  thing  yet." 

"We're  far  enough  to  put  the  handcuffs  onto 
Mr.  Pennington  Flemister  any  time  you  say," 
asserted  Judson.  '' There  was  one  little  thing  that 
I  forgot  to  put  in  the  report:  when  you  get  ready  to 
take  that  missing  switch-engine  back,  you'll  find  it 
choo-chooin9  away  up  yonder  in  Flemister's  new 
power-house  that  he's  built  out  of  boards  made 
from  Mr.  Benson's  bridge-timbers." 

"Is  that  so  ?  Did  you  see  the  engine  ?"  queried 
the  superintendent  quickly. 

340 


The  Challenge 

"No,  but  I  might  as  well  have.  She's  there,  all 
right,  and  they  didn't  care  enough  to  even  muffle 
her  exhaust." 

Lidgerwood  took  a  slender  gold-banded  cigar 
from  his  desk-box,  and  passed  the  box  to  the  ex- 
engineer. 

"We'll  get  Mr.  Pennington  Flemister — and  be 
fore  he  is  very  many  hours  older,"  he  said  defi 
nitely.  And  then:  "I  wish  we  were  a  little  more 
certain  of  the  other  man." 

Judson  bit  the  end  from  his  cigar,  but  he  for 
bore  to  light  it.  The  Red  Desert  had  not  en 
tirely  effaced  his  sense  of  the  respect  due  to  a 
superintendent  riding  in  his  own  private  car. 

"It's  a  queer  sort  of  a  mix-up,  Mr.  Lidg 
erwood,"  he  said,  fingering  the  cigar  tenderly. 
"  Knowin'  what's  what,  as  some  of  us  do,  you'd 
say  them  two'd  never  get  together,  unless  it  was  to 
cut  each  other's  throats." 

Lidgerwood  nodded.  "I've  heard  there  was 
bad  blood  between  them:  it  was  about  that  build- 
ing-and-loan  business,  wasn't  it?" 

"Shucks!  no;  that  was  only  a  drop  in  the 
bucket,"  said  Judson,  surprised  out  of  his  attitude 
of  rank-and-file  deference.  "Hallock  was  the 
original  owner  of  the  Wire-Silver.  Didn't  you 
know  that?" 

341 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"No." 

"He  was,  and  Flemister  beat  him  out  of  it — lock, 
stock,  and  barrel:  just  simply  reached  out  an'  took 
it.  Then,  when  he'd  done  that,  he  reached  out  and 
took  Hallock's  wife — just  to  make  it  a  clean  sweep, 
was  the  way  he  bragged  about  it." 

"Heavens  and  earth!"  ejaculated  the  listener. 
Then  some  of  the  hidden  things  began  to  define 
themselves  in  the  light  of  this  astounding  revela 
tion:  Hallock's  unwillingness  to  go  to  Flemister 
for  the  proof  of  his  innocence  in  the  building-and- 
loan  matter;  his  veiled  warning  that  evil,  and  only 
evil,  would  come  upon  all  concerned  if  Lidgerwood 
should  insist;  the  invasion  of  the  service-car  at 
Copah  by  the  poor  demented  creature  whose  cry 
was  still  for  vengeance  upon  her  betrayer.  Truly, 
Flemister  had  many  crimes  to  answer  for.  But  the 
revelation  made  Hallock's  attitude  all  the  more 
mysterious.  It  was  unaccountable  save  upon  one 
hypothesis — that  Flemister  was  able  to  so  play 
upon  the  man's  weaknesses  as  to  make  him  a  mere 
tool  in  his  hands.  But  Judson  was  going  on  to 
elucidate. 

"First  off,  we  all  thought  Hallock'd  kill  Flem 
ister.  Rankin  was  never  much  of  a  bragger  or 
much  of  a  talker,  but  he  let  out  a  few  hints,  and, 
accordin'  to  Red  Desert  rulin's,  Flemister  wasn't 

342 


The  Challenge 

much  better  than  a  dead  man,  right  then.     But  it 
blew  over,  some  way,  and  now 

"Now  he  is  Flemister's  accomplice  in  a  hanging 
matter,  you  would  say.  I'm  afraid  you  are  right, 
Judson,"  was  the  superintendent's  comment;  and 
with  this  the  subject  was  dropped. 

The  early  dawn  of  the  summer  morning  was 
graying  over  the  desert  when  the  special  drew  into 
the  Angels  yard.  Lidgerwood  had  the  yard  crew 
place  the  service-car  on  the  same  siding  with  the 
Nadia,  and  near  enough  so  that  his  guests,  upon 
rising,  could  pass  across  the  platforms. 

That  done,  and  he  saw  to  the  doing  of  it  himself, 
he  climbed  the  stair  in  the  Crow's  Nest,  meaning  to 
snatch  a  little  sleep  before  the  labors  and  hazards 
of  a  new  day  should  claim  him.  But  McCloskey, 
the  dour-faced,  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  upper 
corridor — with  news  that  would  not  wait. 

"The  trouble-makers  have  sent  us  their  ulti 
matum  at  last,"  he  said  gruffly.  "We  cancel  the 
new  'Book  of  Rules'  and  reinstate  all  the  men 
that  have  been  discharged,  or  a  strike  will  be  de 
clared  and  every  wheel  on  the  line  will  stop  at  mid 
night  to-night." 

Weary  to  the  point  of  mental  stagnation,  Lidg 
erwood  still  had  resilience  enough  left  to  rise  to  the 
new  grapple. 

343 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Is  the  strike  authorized  by  the  labor  union 
leaders  ?"  he  asked. 

McCloskey  shook  his  head.  "I've  been  burn 
ing  the  wires  to  find  out.  It  isn't;  the  Brother 
hoods  won't  stand  for  it,  and  our  men  are  pulling 
it  off  by  their  lonesome.  But  it'll  materialize,  just 
the  same.  The  strikers  are  in  the  majority,  and 
they'll  scare  the  well-affected  minority  to  a  stand 
still.  Business  will  stop  at  twelve  o'clock  to 
night." 

"Not  entirely,"  said  the  superintendent,  with 
anger  rising.  "The  mails  will  be  carried,  and  per 
ishable  freight  will  continue  moving.  Get  every 
man  you  can  enlist  on  our  side,  and  buy  up  all  the 
guns  you  can  find  and  serve  them  out;  we'll  pre 
pare  to  fight  with  whatever  weapons  the  other  side 
may  force  us  to  use.  Does  President  Brewster 
know  anything  about  this  ?" 

"I  guess  not.  They  had  all  gone  to  bed  in  the 
Nadia  when  the  grievance  committee  came  up." 

' That's  good;  he  needn't  know  it.  He  is  going 
over  to  the  Copperette,  and  we  must  arrange  to  get 
him  and  his  party  out  of  town  at  once.  That  will 
eliminate  the  women.  See  to  engaging  the  buck- 
boards  for  them,  and  call  me  when  the  president's 
party  is  ready  to  leave.  I'm  going  to  rest  up  a 
little  before  we  lock  horns  with  these  pirates,  and 

344 


The  Challenge 

you'd  better  do  the  same  after  you  get  things 
shaped  up  for  to-night's  hustle/' 

"I'm  needing  it,  all  right,"  admitted  the  train 
master.  And  then;  "Was  this  passenger  wreck 
another  of  the  'assisted'  ones  ?" 

"It  was.  Two  men  broke  a  rail-joint  on  Little 
Butte  side-cutting  for  my  special — and  caught  the 
delayed  passenger  instead.  Flemister  was  one  of 
the  two." 

"And  the  other?"   said  McCloskey. 

Lidgerwood  did  not  name  the  other. 

"We'll  get  the  other  man  in  good  time,  and  if 
there  is  any  law  in  this  God-forsaken  desert  we'll 
hang  both  of  them.  Have  you  unloaded  it  all  ?  If 
you  have,  I'll  turn  in." 

"All  but  one  little  item,  and  maybe  you'll  rest 
better  if  I  don't  tell  you  that  right  now." 

"Give  it  a  name,"  said  Lidgerwood  crisply. 

"  Bart  Rufford  has  broken  jail,  and  he  is  here,  in 
Angels." 

McCloskey  was  watching  his  chief's  face,  and 
he  was  sorry  to  see  the  sudden  pallor  make  it  color 
less.  But  the  superintendent's  voice  was  quite 
steady  when  he  said: 

"Find  Judson,  and  tell  him  to  look  out  for  him 
self.  Rufford  won't  forgive  the  episode  of  the 
'S '-wrench.  That's  all — I'm  going  to  bed." 

345 


XX 

STORM    SIGNALS 

THOUGH  Lidgerwood  had  been  up  for  the 
better  part  of  two  nights,  and  the  day  in 
tervening,  it  was  apparent  to  at  least  one  member 
of  the  head-quarters  force  that  he  did  not  go  to 
bed  immediately  after  the  arrival  of  the  service- 
car  from  the  west;  the  proof  being  a  freshly  typed 
telegram  which  Operator  Dix  found  impaled  upon 
his  sending-hook  when  he  came  on  duty  in  the 
despatcher's  office  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

The  message  was  addressed  to  Leckhard,  su 
perintendent  of  the  Pannikin  Division  of  the  Pacific 
Southwestern  system,  at  Copah.  It  was  in  cipher, 
and  it  contained  two  uncodified  words — "Fort" 
and  "McCook,"  which  small  circumstance  set  Dix 
to  thinking — Fort  McCook  being  the  army  post, 
twelve  miles  as  the  crow  flies,  down  the  Pannikin 
from  Copah. 

Now  Dix  was  not  one  of  the  rebels.  On  the  con 
trary,  he  was  one  of  the  few  loyal  telegraphers  who 

346 


Storm  Signals 

had  promised  McCloskey  to  stand  by  the  Lidger- 
wood  management  in  case  the  rebellion  grew  into 
an  organized  attempt  to  tie  up  the  road.  But  the 
young  man  had,  for  his  chief  weakness,  a  prying 
curiosity  which  had  led  him,  in  times  past,  to  ex 
periment  with  the  private  office  code  until  he  had 
finally  discovered  the  key  to  it. 

Hence,  a  little  while  after  the  sending  of  the 
Leckhard  message,  Callahan,  the  train  despatcher, 
hearing  an  emphatic  "Gee  whiz!"  from  Dix's 
corner,  looked  up  from  his  train-sheet  to  say, 
"What  hit  you,  brother?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Dix  shortly,  but  Callahan  ob 
served  that  he  was  hastily  folding  and  pocketing 
the  top  sheet  of  the  pad  upon  which  he  had  been 
writing.  Dix  went  off  duty  at  eleven,  his  second 
trick  beginning  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  It  was 
between  three  and  four  when  McCloskey,  having 
strengthened  his  defenses  in  every  way  he  could  de 
vise,  rapped  at  the  door  of  his  chief's  sleeping-room. 
Fifteen  minutes  later  Lidgerwood  joined  the  train 
master  in  the  private  office. 

"I  couldn't  let  you  sleep  any  longer,"  Mc 
Closkey  began  apologetically,  "and  I  don't  know 
but  you'll  give  me  what-for  as  it  is.  Things  are 
thickening  up  pretty  fast." 

"  Put  me  in  touch,"  was  the  command. 

347 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"All  right.  Fll  begin  at  the  front  end.  Along 
about  ten  o'clock  this  morning  Davidson,  the  man 
ager  of  the  Copperette,  came  down  to  see  Mr. 
Brewster.  He  gave  the  president  a  long  song  and 
dance  about  the  tough  trail  and  the  poor  accom 
modations  for  a  pleasure-party  up  at  the  mine, 
and  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  Mr.  Brewster  went 
out  to  the  mine  with  him  alone,  leaving  the  party 
in  the  Nadia  here/' 

Lidgerwood  said  "Damn!"  and  let  it  go  at  that 
for  the  moment.  The  thing  was  done,  and  it  could 
not  be  undone.  McCloskey  went  on  with  his  re 
port,  his  hat  tilted  to  the  bridge  of  his  nose. 

"Taking  it  for  granted  that  you  mean  to  fight 
this  thing  to  a  cold  finish,  I've  done  everything  I 
could  think  of.  Thanks  to  Williams  and  Brad 
ford,  and  a  few  others  like  them,  we  can  count  on  a 
good  third  of  the  trainmen;  and  I've  got  about  the 
same  proportion  of  the  operators  in  line  for  us. 
Taking  advantage  of  the  twenty-four-hour  notice 
the  strikers  gave  us,  I've  scattered  these  men  of  ours 
east  and  west  on  the  day  trains  to  the  points  where 
the  trouble  will  hit  us  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night." 

"Good!"  said  Lidgerwood  briefly.  "How  will 
you  handle  it  ?" 

"It  will  handle  itself,  barring  too  many  broken 
heads.  At  midnight,  in  every  important  office 

348 


Storm  Signals 

where  a  striker  throws  down  his  pen  and  grounds 
his  wire,  one  of  our  men  will  walk  in  and  keep  the 
ball  rolling.  And  on  every  train  in  transit  at  that 
time,  manned  by  men  we're  not  sure  of,  there  will 
be  a  relief  crew  of  some  sort,  deadheading  over 
the  road  and  ready  to  fall  in  line  and  keep  it 
coming  when  the  other  fellows  fall  out." 

Again  the  superintendent  nodded  his  approval. 
The  trainmaster  was  showing  himself  at  his  loyal 
best. 

"That  brings  us  down  to  Angels  and  the  present, 
Mac.  How  do  we  stand  here  ?" 

t(  That's  what  I'd  give  all  my  old  shoes  to  know," 
said  McCloskey,  his  homely  face  emphasizing  his 
perplexity.  "They  say  the  shopmen  are  against 
us,  and  if  that's  so  we're  outnumbered  here,  six  to 
one.  I  can't  find  out  anything  for  certain.  Grid- 
ley  is  still  away,  and  Dawson  hasn't  got  back, 
and  nobody  else  knows  anything  about  the  shop 
force." 

''You  say  Dawson  isn't  in?  He  didn't  have 
more  than  five  or  six  hours5  work  on  that  wreck. 
What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"He  had  a  bit  of  bad  luck.  He  got  the  main 
line  cleared  early  this  morning,  but  in  shifting  his 
train  and  the  'cripples'  on  the  abandoned  spur, 
a  culvert  broke  and  let  the  big  crane  off.  He  has 

349 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

been  all  day  getting  it  on  again,  but  he'll  be  in 
before  dark — so  Goodloe  says." 

"And  how  about  Benson?"  queried  Lidger- 
wood. 

"He's  on  203.  I  caught  him  on  the  other  side 
of  Crosswater,  and  took  the  liberty  of  signing 
your  name  to  a  wire  calling  him  in." 

'That  was  right.  With  this  private-car  party 
on  our  hands,  we  may  need  every  man  we  can 
depend  upon.  I  wish  Gridley  were  here.  He 
could  handle  the  shop  outfit.  I'm  rather  surprised 
that  he  should  be  away.  He  must  have  known 
that  the  volcano  was  about  ready  to  spout." 

"Gridley's  a  law  to  himself,"  said  the  train 
master.  "Sometimes  I  think  he's  all  right,  and 
at  other  times  I  catch  myself  wondering  if  he 
wouldn't  tread  on  me  like  I  was  a  cockroach,  if 
I  happened  to  be  in  his  way." 

Having  had  exactly  the  same  feeling,  and  quite 
without  reason,  Lidgerwood  generously  defended 
the  absent  master-mechanic. 

'That  is  prejudice,  Mac,  and  you  mustn't  give 
it  room.  Gridley's  all  right.  We  mustn't  forget 
that  his  department,  thus  far,  is  the  only  one  that 
hasn't  given  us  trouble  and  doesn't  seem  likely 
to  give  us  trouble.  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much 
for  the  force  here  in  the  Crows'  Nest." 

35° 


Storm  Signals 

"With  a  single  exception,  you  can — to-day,"  said 
McCloskey  quickly.  "I've  cleaned  house.  There 
is  only  one  man  under  this  roof  at  this  minute 
who  won't  fight  for  you  at  the  drop  of  the  hat." 

"And  that  one  is ?" 

The  trainmaster  jerked  his  head  toward  the 
outer  office.  "It's  the  man  out  there — or  who 
was  out  there  when  I  came  through;  the  one  you 
and  I  haven't  been  agreeing  on." 

"Hallock?     Is  he  here?" 

"Sure;  he's  been  here  since  early  this  morning." 

"But  how—  Lidgerwood's  thought  went 
swiftly  backward  over  the  events  of  the  preced 
ing  night.  Judson's  story  had  left  Hallock  some 
where  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Wire-Silver  mine  and 
the  wreck  at  some  time  about  midnight,  or  a  little 
past,  and  there  had  been  no  train  in  from  that 
time  on  until  the  regular  passenger,  reaching 
Angels  at  noon.  It  was  McCloskey  who  relieved 
the  strain  of  bewilderment. 

"How  did  he  get  here  ?  you  were  going  to  say. 
You  brought  him  from  somewhere  down  the 
road  on  your  special.  He  rode  on  the  engine  with 
Williams." 

Lidgerwood  pushed  his  chair  back  and  got  up. 
It  was  high  time  for  a  reckoning  of  some  sort  with 
the  chief  clerk. 

351 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Is  there  anything  else,  Mac  ?"  he  asked,  clos 
ing  his  desk. 

"Yes;  one  more  thing.  The  grievance  com 
mittee  is  in  session  up  at  the  Celestial.  Tryon, 
who  is  heading  it,  sent  word  down  a  little  while 
ago  that  the  men  would  wreck  every  dollar's  worth 
of  company  property  in  Angels  if  you  didn't  coun 
termand  your  wire  of  this  morning  to  Superin 
tendent  Leckhard." 

"I  haven't  wired  Leckhard." 
'They  say  you  did;  and  when  I  asked  'em  what 
about  it,  they  said  you'd  know." 

The  superintendent's  hand  was  on  the  knob  of 
the  corridor  door 

"Look  it  up  in  Callahan's  office,"  he  said.  "If 
any  message  has  gone  to  Leckhard  to-day,  I 
didn't  write  it." 

When  he  closed  the  door  of  his  private  office 
behind  him,  Lidgerwood's  purpose  was  to  go  im 
mediately  to  the  Nadia  to  warn  the  members  of 
the  pleasure-party,  and  to  convince  them,  if  pos 
sible,  of  the  advisability  of  a  prompt  retreat  to 
Copah.  But  there  was  another  matter  which  was 
even  more  urgent.  After  the  events  of  the  night, 
it  had  not  been  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  Hal- 
lock  would  scarcely  be  foolhardy  enough  to  come 
back  and  take  his  place  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 

352 


Storm  Signals 

pened.    Since  he  had  come  back,  there  was  only  one 
thing  to  be  done,  and  the  safety  of  all  demanded  it. 

Lidgerwood  left  the  Crow's  Nest  and  walked 
quickly  uptown.  Contrary  to  his  expectations, 
he  found  the  avenue  quiet  and  almost  deserted, 
though  there  was  a  little  knot  of  loungers  on  the 
porch  of  the  Celestial,  and  Biggs's  bar-room,  and 
Red-Light  Sammy's,  were  full  to  overflowing. 
Crossing  to  the  corner  opposite  the  hotel,  the  su 
perintendent  entered  the  open  door  of  Schleisinger's 
"Emporium."  At  the  moment  there  was  a  dearth 
of  trade,  and  the  round-faced  little  German  who 
had  weathered  all  the  Angelic  storms  was  dis 
covered  shaving  himself  before  a  triangular  bit  of 
looking-glass,  stuck  up  on  the  packing-box  which 
served  him  by  turns  as  a  desk  and  a  dressing-case. 

"How  you  vas,  Mr.  Litchervood  ?"  was  his 
greeting,  offered  while  the  razor  was  on  the  up 
ward  sweep.  "Don'd  tell  me  you  vas  come  aboud 
some  more  of  dose  chustice  businesses.  Me,  I  make 
oud  no  more  of  dem  warrants,  nichts.  Dot  teufel 
Ruffbrd  iss  come  back  again,  alretty,  and— 

Lidgerwood  broke  the  refusal  in  the  midst. 

"You  are  an  officer  of  the  law,  Schleisinger — 
more  is  the  pity,  both  for  you  and  the  law — and 
you  must  do  your  duty.  I  have  come  to  swear  out 
another  warrant.  Get  your  blank  and  fill  it  in." 

353 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

The  German  shopkeeper  put  down  his  razor 
with  only  one  side  of  his  face  shaven.  "Oh, 
mem  Gott!"  was  his  protest;  but  he  rummaged  in 
the  catch-all  packing-box  and  found  the  pad  of 
blank  warrants.  Lidgerwood  dictated  slowly,  in 
charity  for  the  trembling  ringers  that  held  the  pen. 
Knowing  his  own  weakness,  he  could  sympathize 
with  others.  When  it  came  to  the  filling  in 
of  Hallock's  name,  Schleisinger  stopped,  open- 
mouthed. 

"Donnerwetter!"  he  gasped,  "you  don'd  mean 
dot,  Mr.  Litchervood;  you  don'd  nefFer  mean  dot  ?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  do;  sorrier  than  you 
or  any  one  else  can  possibly  be." 

"Bud— bud- 

"I  know  what  you  would  say,"  interrupted 
Lidgerwood  hastily.  "You  are  afraid  of  Hal- 
lock's  friends — as  you  were  afraid  of  RufFord 
and  his  friends.  But  you  must  do  your  sworn 
duty." 

"Nein,  min,  dot  ain'd  it,"  was  the  earnest 
denial.  "Bud — bud  nobody  vould  serve  a  war 
rant  on  Mr.  Hallock,  Mr.  Litchervood !  I— 

"I'll  find  some  one  to  serve  it,"  said  the  com 
plainant  curtly,  and  Schleisinger  made  no  further 
objections. 

With  the  warrant  in  his  pocket,  a  magistrate's 

354 


Storm  Signals 

order  calling  for  the  arrest  and  detention  of  Rankin 
Hallock  on  the  double  charge  of  train-wrecking 
and  murder,  Lidgerwood  left  Schleisinger's,  mean 
ing  to  go  back  to  the  Crow's  Nest  and  have  Mc- 
Closkey  put  the  warrant  in  Judson's  hands.  But 
there  was  a  thing  to  come  between;  a  thing  not 
wholly  unlocked  for,  but  none  the  less  destructive 
of  whatever  small  hope  of  regeneration  the  victim 
of  unreadiness  had  been  cherishing. 

When  the  superintendent  recrossed  to  the 
Celestial  corner,  Mesa  Avenue  was  still  practically 
deserted,  though  the  group  on  the  hotel  porch  had 
increased  its  numbers.  Three  doors  below,  in 
front  of  Biggs's,  a  bunch  of  saddled  cow-ponies  gave 
notice  of  a  fresh  accession  to  the  bar-room  crowd 
which  was  now  overflowing  upon  the  steps  and  the 
plank  sidewalk.  Lidgerwood's  thoughts  shuttled 
swiftly.  He  argued  that  a  brave  man  would 
neither  hurry  nor  loiter  in  passing  the  danger 
nucleus,  and  he  strove  with  what  determination 
there  was  in  him  to  keep  even  step  with  the 
reasoned-out  resolution. 

But  once  more  his  weakness  tricked  him.  When 
the  determined  stride  had  brought  him  fairly  op 
posite  Biggs's  door,  a  man  stepped  out  of  the  side 
walk  group  and  calmly  pushed  him  to  a  stand  with 
the  flat  of  his  hand.  It  was  RufFord,  and  he  was 

355 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

saying  quite  coolly:  "Hold  up  a  minute,  pardner; 
I'm  going  to  cut  your  heart  out  and  feed  it  to  that 
pup  o*  Schleisinger's  that's  follerin'  you.  He 
looks  mighty  hungry." 

With  reason  assuring  him  that  the  gambler  was 
merely  making  a  grand-stand  play  for  the  benefit 
of  the  bar-room  crowd  wedging  itself  in  Biggs's 
doorway,  Lidgerwood's  lips  went  dry,  and  he 
knew  that  the  haunting  terror  was  slipping  its  hu- 
Miiliating  mask  over  his  face.  But  before  he  could 
say  or  do  any  fear-prompted  thing  a  diversion 
came.  At  the  halting  moment  a  small  man,  red- 
haired,  and  with  his  cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes, 
had  separated  himself  from  the  group  of  loungers 
on  the  Celestial  porch  to  make  a  swift  detour 
through  the  hotel  bar,  around  the  rear  of  Biggs's, 
and  so  to  the  street  and  the  sidewalk  in  front.  As 
once  before,  and  under  somewhat  less  hazardous 
conditions,  he  came  up  behind  Rufford,  and  again 
the  gambler  felt  the  pressure  of  cold  metal  against 
his  spine. 

"It  ain't  an  S-wrench  this  time,  Bart,"  he  said 
gently,  and  the  crowd  on  Biggs's  doorstep  roared 
its  appreciation  of  the  joke.  Then:  "Keep  your 
hands  right  where  they  are,  and  side-step  out  o' 
Mr.  Lidgerwood's  way — that's  business."  And 
when  the  superintendent  had  gone  on:  "That's 

356 


Storm  Signals 

all  for  the  present,  Bart.  After  I  get  a  little  more 
time  and  ain't  so  danged  busy  I'll  borrow  another 
pair  o'  clamps  from  Hepburn  and  take  you  back  to 
Copah.  So  long/' 

By  all  the  laws  of  Angelic  procedure,  Judson 
should  have  been  promptly  shot  in  the  back  when 
he  turned  and  walked  swiftly  down  the  avenue  to 
overtake  the  superintendent.  But  for  once  the 
onlookers  were  disappointed.  Rufford  was  calmly 
relighting  his  cigar,  and  when  he  had  sufficiently 
cursed  the  bar-room  audience  for  not  being  game 
enough  to  stop  the  interference,  he  kicked  Schlei- 
singer's  dog,  and  turned  his  back  upon  Biggs's 
and  its  company. 

It  was  a  bit  of  common  human  perverseness  that 
kept  Lidgerwood  from  thanking  Judson  when  the 
engineer  overtook  him  at  the  corner  of  the  plaza. 
Uppermost  in  his  thoughts  at  the  moment  was  the 
keen  sense  of  humiliation  arising  upon  the  convic 
tion  that  the  plucky  little  man  had  surprised  his 
secret  and  would  despise  him  accordingly.  Hence 
his  first  word  to  Judson  was  the  word  of  authority. 

"Go  back  to  Schleisinger  and  have  him  swear 
you  in  as  a  deputy  constable,"  he  directed  tersely. 
"When  you  are  sworn  in,  come  down  here  and 
serve  this,"  and  he  gave  Judson  the  warrant  for 
Hallock's  arrest. 

357 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

The  engineer  glanced  at  the  name  in  the  body 
of  the  warrant  and  nodded. 

"So  you've  made  up  your  mind  ?"  he  said. 

Lidgerwood  was  frowning  abstractedly  up  at 
the  windows  of  Hallock's  office  in  the  head-quarters 
building. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  half  hesitantly.  "But 
he  is  implicated  in  that  murderous  business  of  last 
night — that  we  both  know — and  now  he  is  back 
here.  McCloskey  told  you  that,  didn't  he  ?" 

Judson  nodded  again,  and  Lidgerwood  went  on, 
irresistibly  impelled  to  justify  his  own  action. 

"It  would  be  something  worse  than  folly  to 
leave  him  at  liberty  when  we  are  on  the  ragged 
edge  of  a  fight.  Arrest  him  wherever  you  can  find 
him,  and  take  him  over  to  Copah  on  the  first  train 
that  serves.  He'll  have  to  clear  himself,  if  he 
can;  that's  all." 

When  Judson,  with  his  huge  cow-boy  pistol 
sagging  at  his  hip,  had  turned  back  to  do  the  first 
part  of  his  errand,  Lidgerwood  went  on  around  the 
Crow's  Nest  and  presented  himself  at  the  door  of 
the  Nadia.  Happily,  for  his  purpose,  he  found 
only  Mrs.  Brewster  and  Judge  Holcombe  in  pos 
session,  the  young  people  having  gone  to  climb 
one  of  the  bare  mesa  hills  behind  the  town  for  an 
unobstructed  view  of  the  Timanyonis. 

358 


Storm  Signals 

The  superintendent  left  Judge  Holcombe  out  of 
the  proposal  which  he  urged  earnestly  upon  Mrs. 
Brewster.  Telling  her  briefly  of  the  threatened 
strike  and  its  promise  of  violence  and  rioting,  he 
tried  to  show  her  that  the  presence  of  the  private- 
car  party  was  a  menace,  alike  to  its  own  members 
and  to  him.  The  run  to  Copah  could  be  made  on 
a  special  schedule  and  the  party  might  be  well  out 
side  of  the  danger  zone  before  the  armistice  ex 
pired.  Would  she  not  defer  to  his  judgment  and 
let  him  send  the  Nadia  back  to  safety  while  there 
was  yet  time  ? 

Mrs.  Brewster,  the  placid,  let  him  say  his  say 
without  interruption.  But  when  he  finished,  the 
placidity  became  active  opposition.  The  presi 
dent's  wife  would  not  listen  for  a  moment  to  an 
expedient  which  did  not — could  not — include  the 
president  himself. 

"I  know,  Howard,  you're  nervous — you  can't 
help  being  nervous,"  she  said,  cutting  him  to  the 
quick  when  nothing  was  farther  from  her  inten 
tion.  "But  you  haven't  stopped  to  think  what 
you're  asking.  If  there  is  any  real  danger  for  us— 
which  I  can't  believe — that  is  all  the  more  reason 
why  we  shouldn't  run  away  and  leave  your  cousin 
Ned  behind.  I  wouldn't  think  of  it  for  an  instant, 
and  neither  would  any  of  the  others." 

359 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Being  hurt  again  in  his  tenderest  part  by  the 
quite  unconscious  gibe,  Lidgerwood  did  not  press 
his  proposal  further. 

"I  merely  wished  to  state  the  case  and  to  give 
you  a  chance  to  get  out  and  away  from  the  trouble 
while  we  could  get  you  out,"  he  said,  a  little  stiffly. 
Then:  "It  is  barely  possible  that  the  others  may 
agree  with  me  instead  of  with  you:  will  you  tell 
them  about  it  when  they  come  back  to  the  car,  and 
send  word  to  my  office  after  you  have  decided  in 
open  council  what  you  wish  to  do  ?  Only  don't  let 
it  be  very  late;  a  delay  of  two  or  three  hours  may 
make  it  impossible  for  us  to  get  the  Nadia  over  the 
Desert  Division." 

Mrs.  Brewster  promised,  and  the  superintendent 
went  upstairs  to  his  office.  A  glance  into  Hallock's 
room  in  passing  showed  him  the  chief  clerk's  box- 
like  desk  untenanted,  and  he  wondered  if  Judson 
would  find  his  man  somewhere  in  the  town.  He 
hoped  so.  It  would  be  better  for  all  concerned  if 
the  arrest  could  be  made  without  too  many  wit 
nesses.  True,  Hallock  had  few  friends  in  the  rail 
road  service,  at  least  among  those  who  professed 
loyalty  to  the  management,  but  with  explosives 
lying  about  everywhere  underfoot,  one  could  not 
be  too  careful  of  matches  and  fire. 

The    superintendent    had    scarcely    closed    the 
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Storm  Signals 

door  upon  his  entrance  into  his  own  room  when  it 
was  opened  again  with  McCloskey's  hand  on  the 
latch.  The  trainmaster  came  to  report  that  a 
careful  search  of  Callahan's  files  had  not  disclosed 
any  message  to  Leckhard.  Also,  he  added  that 
Dix,  who  should  have  come  on  duty  at  three  o'clock, 
was  still  absent. 

"What  do  you  make  out  of  that?"  queried 
Lidgerwood. 

McCloskey's  scowl  was  grotesquely  horrible. 

"  Bullying  or  bribery,"  he  said  shortly.  "They've 
got  Dix  hid  away  uptown  somewhere.  But  there 
was  a  message,  all  right,  and  with  your  name  signed 
to  it.  Callahan  saw  it  on  Dix's  hook  this  morning 
before  the  boy  came  down.  It  was  in  code,  your 
private  code." 

"Call  up  the  Copah  offices  and  have  it  repeated 
back,"  ordered  the  superintendent.  "Let's  find 
out  what  somebody  has  been  signing  my  name  to." 

McCloskey  shook  his  grizzled  head.  "You 
won't  mind  if  I  say  that  I  beat  you  to  it,  this  time, 
will  you  ?  I  got  Orton,  a  little  while  ago,  on  the 
Copah  wire  and  pumped  him.  He  says  there  was 
a  code  message,  and  that  Dix  sent  it.  But  when  I 
asked  him  to  repeat  it  back  here,  he  said  he  couldn't 
—that  Mr.  Leckhard  had  taken  it  with  him  some 
where  down  the  main  line." 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Lidgerwood's  exclamation  was  profane.  The 
perversity  of  things,  animate  and  inanimate,  was 
beginning  to  wear  upon  him. 

"Go  and  tell  Callahan  to  keep  after  Orton  until 
he  gets  word  that  Mr.  Leckhard  has  returned. 
Then  have  him  get  Leckhard  himself  at  the  other 
end  of  the  wire  and  call  me,"  he  directed.  "Since 
there  is  only  one  man  besides  myself  in  Angels  who 
knows  the  private-office  code,  I'd  like  to  know 
what  that  message  said." 

McCloskey  nodded.     "You  mean  Hallock  ?" 

"Yes." 

The  trainmaster  was  half-way  to  the  door  when 
he  turned  suddenly  to  say:  "You  can  fire  me  if 
you  want  to,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  but  I've  got  to  say 
my  say.  You're  going  to  let  that  yellow  dog  run 
loose  until  he  bites  you." 

"No,  I  am  not." 

"By  gravies!  I'd  have  him  safe  under  lock  and 
key  before  the  shindy  begins  to-night,  if  it  was  my 
job" 

Lidgerwood  had  turned  to  his  desk  and  was 
opening  it. 

"He  will  be,"  he  announced  quietly.  "I  have 
sworn  out  a  warrant  for  his  arrest,  and  Judson  has 
it  and  is  looking  for  his  man." 

McCloskey  smote  fist  into  palm  and  gritted  out 

362 


Storm  Signals 

an  oath  of  congratulation.  'That's  where  you  hit 
the  proper  nail  on  the  head ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  He's 
the  king-pin  of  the  whole  machine,  and  if  you  can 
pull  him  out,  the  machine  will  fall  to  pieces.  What 
charge  did  you  put  in  the  warrant?  I  only  hope 
it's  big  enough  to  hold  him." 

'Train-wrecking  and  murder,"  said  Lidger- 
wood,  without  looking  around;  and  a  moment 
later  McCloskey  went  out,  treading  softly  as  one 
who  finds  himself  a  trespasser  on  forbidden 
ground. 

The  afternoon  sun  was  poising  for  its  plunge 
behind  the  western  barrier  range  and  Lidgerwood 
had  sent  Grady,  the  stenographer,  up  to  the  cot 
tage  on  the  second  mesa  to  tell  Mrs.  Dawson  that 
he  would  not  be  up  for  dinner,  when  the  door 
opened  to  admit  Miss  Brewster. 

"And  the  way  into  my  parlor  is  up  a  winding 
stair,' "  she  quoted  blithely  and  quite  as  if  the  air 
were  not  thick  with  threatening  possibilities.  "So 
this  is  where  you  live,  is  it  ?  What  a  dreary,  bleak, 
blank  place!" 

"It  was,  a  moment  ago;  but  it  isn't,  now,"  he 
said,  and  his  soberness  made  the  saying  some 
thing  more  than  a  bit  of  commonplace  gallantry. 
Then  he  gave  her  his  swing-chair  as  the  only 
comfortable  one  in  the  bare  room,  adding,  "I  hope 

363 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

you  have  come  to  tell  me  that  your  mother  has 
changed  her  mind/' 

"Indeed  I  haven't!  What  do  you  take  us  for, 
Howard?" 

"For  an  exceedingly  rash  party  of  pleasure- 
hunters — if  you  have  decided  to  stay  here  through 
what  is  likely  to  happen  before  to-morrow  morning. 
Besides, you  are  making  it  desperately  hard  forme." 

She  laughed  lightly.  "If  you  can't  be  afraid 
for  yourself,  you'll  be  afraid  for  other  people,  won't 
you  ?  It  seems  to  be  one  of  your  necessities." 

He  let  the  taunt  go  unanswered. 

"I  can't  believe  that  you  know  what  you  are 
facing,  any  of  you,  Eleanor.  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
told  your  mother:  there  will  be  battle,  murder,  and 
sudden  death  let  loose  here  in  Angels  before  to 
morrow  morning.  And  it  is  so  utterly  unneces 
sary  for  any  of  you  to  be  involved." 

She  rose  and  stood  before  him,  putting  a  com 
radely  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  looking  him 
fairly  in  the  eyes. 

'There  wa«s  a  ring  of  sincerity  in  that,  Howard. 
Do  you  really  mean  that  there  is  likely  to  be 
violence  ?" 

"I  do;  it  is  almost  certain  to  come.  The 
trouble  has  been  brewing  for  a  long  time — ever 
since  I  came  here,  in  fact.  And  there  is  nothing 

364 


Storm  Signals 

we  can  do  to  prevent  it.     All  we  can  do  is  to 
meet  it  when  it  does  come,  and  fight  it  out." 

'We,'    you    say;     who    else    besides   yourself, 
Howard?"    she  asked. 

"A  little  handful  of  loyal  ones." 
"Then  you  will  be  outnumbered?" 
"Six  to  one  here  in  town  if  the  shopmen  go  out. 
They  have  already  threatened  to  burn  the  com 
pany's  buildings  if  I  don't  comply  with  their  de 
mands,  and  I  know  the  temper  of  the  outfit  well 
enough  to  give  it  full  credit  for  any  violence  it 
promises.  Won't  you  go  and  persuade  the  others 
to  consent  to  run  for  it,  Eleanor  ?  It  is  simply 
the  height  of  folly  for  you  to  hold  the  Nadia  here. 
If  I  could  have  had  ten  words  with  your  father 
this  morning  before  he  went  out  to  the  mine,  you 
would  all  have  been  in  Copah,  long  ago.  Even 
now,  if  I  could  get  word  to  him,  I'm  sure  he  would 
order  the  car  out  at  once." 
She  nodded. 

"Perhaps  he  would;  quite  likely  he  would— 
and  he  would  stay  here  himself."  Then,  sud 
denly:  "You  may  send  the  Nadia  back  to  Copah 
on  one  condition — that  you  go  with  it." 

At  first  he  thought  it  was  a  deliberate  insult; 
the  crudest  indignity  she  had  ever  put  upon  him. 
Knowing  his  weakness,  she  was  good-natured 

365 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

enough,  or  solicitous  enough,  to  try  to  get  him  out 
of  harm's  way.  Then  the  steadfast  look  in  her 
eyes  made  him  uncertain. 

"If  I  thought  you  could  say  that,  realizing  what 
it  means —  '  he  began,  and  then  he  looked  away. 

"Well?"  she  prompted,  and  the  hand  slipped 
from  his  shoulder. 

His  eyes  were  coming  back  to  hers.  "If  I 
thought  you  meant  that,"  he  repeated;  "if  I  be 
lieved  that  you  could  despise  me  so  utterly  as  to 
think  for  a  moment  that  I  would  deliberately  turn 
my  back  upon  my  responsibilities  here — go  away 
and  hunt  safety  for  myself,  leaving  the  men  who 
have  stood  by  me  to  whatever — 

"You  are  making  it  a  matter  of  duty,"  she  in 
terrupted  quite  gravely.  "I  suppose  that  is  right 
and  proper.  But  isn't  your  first  duty  to  yourself 
and  to  those  who —  She  paused,  and  then  went 
on  in  the  same  steady  tone:  "I  have  been  hearing 
some  things  to-day — some  of  the  things  you  said 
I  would  hear.  You  are  well  hated  in  the  Red 
Desert,  Howard — hated  so  fiercely  that  this  quarrel 
with  your  men  will  be  almost  a  personal  one." 

"I  know,"  he  said. 

"They  will  kill  you,  if  you  stay  here  and  let  them 
do  it."  ' 

"Quite  possibly." 

366 


Storm  Signals 

"Howard!  Do  you  tell  me  you  can  stay  here 
and  face  all  this  without  flinching?" 

"Oh,  no;    I  didn't  say  that." 

"But  you  are  facing  it!" 

He  smiled. 

"As  I  told  you  yesterday — that  is  one  of  the 
things  for  which  I  draw  my  salary.  Don't  mistake 
me;  there  is  nothing  heroic  about  it — the  heroics 
are  due  to  come  to-night.  That  is  another  thing, 
Eleanor — another  reason  why  I  want  you  to  go 
away.  When  the  real  pinch  comes,  I  shall  prob 
ably  disgrace  myself  and  everybody  remotely  con 
nected  with  me.  I'd  a  good  bit  rather  be  torn  into 
little  pieces,  privately,  than  have  you  here  to  be 
made  ashamed — again." 

She  turned  away. 

"Tell  me,  in  so  many  words,  what  you  think 
will  be  done  to-night — what  are  you  expecting  ? " 

"I  told  you  a  few  moments  ago,  in  the  words  of 
the  Prayer  Book:  battle,  and  murder,  and  sudden 
death.  A  strike  has  been  planned,  and  it  will  fail. 
Five  minutes  after  the  first  strike-abandoned  train 
arrives,  the  town  will  go  mad." 

She  had  come  close  to  him  again. 

"Mother  won't  go  and  leave  father;  that  is  set 
tled.  -You  must  do  the  best  you  can,  with  us  for  a 
handicap.  What  will  you  do  with  us,  Howard  ?" 

367 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  that.  The  farther 
you  can  get  away  from  the  shops  and  the  yard, 
which  will  be  the  storm-centre,  the  safer  you  will 
be.  I  can  have  the  Nadia  set  out  on  the  Cop- 
perette  switch,  which  is  a  good  half-mile  below 
the  town,  with  Van  Lew  and  Jefferis  to  stand 
guard- 

'They  will  both  be  here,  with  you,"  she  inter 
rupted. 

'Then  the  alternative  is  to  place  the  car  as  near 
as  possible  to  this  building,  which  will  be  defended. 
If  there  is  a  riot,  you  can  all  come  up  here  and  be 
out  of  the  way  of  chance  pistol-shots,  at  least." 

"Ugh!"  she  shivered.  "Is  this  really  civilized 
America?" 

"It's  America — without  much  of  the  civilization. 
Now,  will  you  go  and  tell  the  others  what  to  expect, 
and  send  Van  Lew  to  me  ?  I  want  to  tell  him 
just  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  while  there  is 
time  and  an  undisturbed  chance." 


XXI 

THE    BOSS    MACHINIST 

MISS  BREWSTER  evidently  obeyed  her  in 
structions  precisely,  since  Van  Lew  came 
almost  immediately  to  tap  on  the  door  of  the  su 
perintendent's  private  room. 

"Miss  Eleanor  said  you  wanted  to  see  me,"  he 
began,  when  Lidgerwood  had  admitted  him;  add 
ing:  "I  was  just  about  to  chase  out  to  see  what 
had  become  of  her." 

The  frank  confession  of  solicitude  was  not 
thrown  away  upon  Lidgerwood,  and  it  cost  him 
an  effort  to  put  the  athlete  on  a  plane  of  brotherly 
equality  as  a  comrade  in  arms.  But  he  com 
passed  it. 

"Yes,  I  asked  her  to  send  you  up,"  he  replied. 
Then:  "I  suppose  you  know  what  we  are  con 
fronting,  Mr.  Van  Lew?" 

"Mrs.  Brewster  told  us  as  soon  as  we  came  back 
from  the  hills.  Is  it  likely  to  be  serious  ?" 

''Yes.     I   wish   I   could   have   persuaded   Mrs. 

369 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Brewster  to  order  the  Nadia  out  of  it.  But  she  has 
refused  to  go  and  leave  Mr.  Brewster  behind/' 

"I  know,"  said  Van  Lew;  "we  have  all  refused." 

"So  Miss  Brewster  has  just  told  me,"  frowned 
Lidgerwood.  'That  being  the  case,  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it.  How  are  you  fixed  for  arms 
in  the  president's  car?" 

"I  have  a  hunting  rifle — a  forty-four  magazine; 
and  Jefferis  has  a  small  armory  of  revolvers — boy- 
like." 

"Good!  The  defense  of  the  car,  if  a  riot  ma 
terializes,  will  fall  upon  you  two.  Judge  Holcombe 
can't  be  counted  in.  I'll  give  you  all  the  help  I  can 
spare,  but  you'll  have  to  furnish  the  brains.  I 
suppose  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  not  to  take  any 
chances  ?" 

Van  Lew  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 

"Not  while  the  dear  girl  whom,  God  willing,  I'm 
going  to  marry,  is  a  member  of  our  car-party.  I'm 
more  likely  to  be  over-cautious  than  reckless,  Mr. 
Lidgerwood." 

Here,  in  terms  unmistakable,  was  a  deep  grave 
in  which  to  bury  any  poor  phantom  of  hope  which 
might  have  survived,  but  Lidgerwood  did  not  ad 
vertise  the  funeral. 

"She  is  altogether  worthy  of  the  most  that  you 
can  do  for  her,  and  the  best  that  you  can  give  her, 

37° 


The  Boss  Machinist 

Mr.  Van  Lew,"  he  said  gravely.  Then  he  passed 
quickly  to  the  more  vital  matter.  "The  Nadia 
will  be  placed  on  the  short  spur  track  at  this  end  of 
the  building,  close  in,  where  you  can  step  from  the 
rear  platform  of  the  car  to  the  station  platform. 
I'll  try  to  keep  watch  for  you,  but  you  must  also 
keep  watch  for  yourself.  If  any  firing  begins,  get 
your  people  out  quietly  and  bring  them  up  here. 
Of  course,  none  of  you  will  have  anything  worse 
than  a  stray  bullet  to  fear,  but  the  side  walls  of  the 
Nadia  would  offer  no  protection  against  that." 

Van  Lew  nodded  understandingly. 

"Call  it  settled,"  he  said.  "Shall  I  use  my  own 
judgment  as  to  the  proper  moment  to  make  the 
break,  or  will  you  pass  us  the  word  ?" 

Lidgerwood  took  time  to  consider.  Conditions 
might  arise  under  which  the  Crow's  Nest  would 
be  the  most  unsafe  place  in  Angels  to  which  to 
flee  for  shelter. 

"Perhaps  you  would  better  sit  tight  until  I  give 
the  word,"  he  directed,  after  the  reflective  pause. 
Then,  in  a  lighter  vein:  "All  of  these  careful  pre- 
figurings  may  be  entirely  beside  the  mark,  Mr. 
Van  Lew;  I  hope  the  event  may  prove  that  they 
were.  And  until  the  thing  actually  hits  us,  we 
may  as  well  keep  up  appearances.  Don't  let  the 
women  worry  any  more  than  they  have  to." 

371 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"You  can  trust  me  for  that,"  laughed  the 
athlete,  and  he  went  his  way  to  begin  the  keeping 
up  of  appearances. 

At  seven  o'clock,  just  as  Lidgerwood  was  finish 
ing  the  luncheon  which  had  been  sent  up  to  his 
office  from  the  station  kitchen,  Train  203  pulled 
in  from  the  east;  and  a  little  later  Dawson's  be 
lated  wrecking-train  trailed  up  from  the  west, 
bringing  the  "cripples"  from  the  Little  Butte  dis 
aster.  Not  to  leave  anything  undone,  Lidger 
wood  summoned  McCloskey  by  a  touch  of  the 
buzzer-push  connecting  with  the  trainmaster's 
office. 

"No  word  from  Judson  yet?"  he  asked,  when 
McCloskey's  homely  face  appeared  in  the  door 
way. 

"No,  not  yet,"  was  the  reply. 

"Let  me  know  when  you  hear  from  him;  and 
in  the  meantime  I  wish  you  would  go  downstairs 
and  see  if  Gridley  came  in  on  203.  If  he  did, 
bring  him  and  Benson  up  here  and  we'll  hold  a 
council  of  war.  If  you  see  Dawson,  send  him 
home  to  his  mother  and  sister.  He  can  report  to 
me  later,  if  he  finds  it  safe  to  leave  his  woman 
kind." 

The  door  of  the  outer  office  had  barely  closed 
behind  McCloskey  when  that  opening  into  the  cor- 

372 


The  Boss  Machinist 

ridor  swung  upon  its  hinges  to  admit  the  master- 
mechanic.  He  was  dusty  and  travel-stained,  but 
nothing  seemed  to  stale  his  genial  good-humor. 

"Well,  well,  Mr.  Lidgerwood!  so  the  hoboes 
have  asked  to  see  your  hand,  at  last,  have  they?" 
he  began  sympathetically.  "I  heard  of  it  over  in 
Copah,  just  in  good  time  to  let  me  catch  203. 
You're  not  going  to  let  them  make  you  show 
down,  are  you  ?" 

"No,"  said  Lidgerwood. 

'That's  right;  that's  precisely  the  way  to  stack 
it  up.  Of  course,  you  know  you  can  count  on  me. 
I've  got  a  beautiful  lot  of  pirates  over  in  the  .shops, 
but  we'll  try  to  hold  them  level."  Then,  in  the 
same  even  tone:  "They  tell  me  we  went  into  the 
hole  again  last  night,  over  at  Little  Butte.  Pretty 
bad?" 

"Very  bad;  six  killed  outright,  and  as  many 
more  to  bury  later  on,  I  am  told  by  the  Red  Butte 
doctors." 

"Heavens  and  earth!  The  men  are  calling  it  a 
broken  rail;  was  it?" 

"A  loosened  rail,"  corrected  Lidgerwood. 

The  master-mechanic's  eyes  narrowed. 

"Natural?"   he  asked. 

"No,  artificial." 

Gridley  swore  savagely. 

373 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"This  thing's  got  to  stop,  Lidgerwood !  Sift  it, 
sift  it  to  the  bottom!  Whom  do  you  suspect?" 

It  was  a  plain  truth,  though  an  unintentionally 
misleading  one,  that  the  superintendent  put  into 
his  reply. 

"I  don't  suspect  any  one,  Gridley,"  he  began, 
and  he  was  going  on  to  say  that  suspicion  had 
grown  to  certainty,  when  the  latch  of  the  door 
opening  from  the  outer  office  clicked  again  and 
McCloskey  came  in  with  Benson.  The  master- 
mechanic  excused  himself  abruptly  when  he  saw 
who  the  trainmaster's  follower  was. 

"I'll  go  and  get  something  to  eat,"  he  said  hur 
riedly;  "after  which  I'll  pick  up  a  few  men  whom 
we  can  depend  upon  and  garrison  the  shops.  Send 
over  for  me  if  you  need  me." 

Benson  looked  hard  at  the  door  which  was  still 
quivering  under  Gridley's  outgoing  slam.  And 
when  the  master-mechanic's  tread  was  no  longer 
audible  in  the  upper  corridor,  the  young  engineer 
turned  to  the  man  at  the  desk  to  say :  "What  tickled 
the  boss  machinist,  Lidgerwood  ?" 

"I  don't  know.     Why?" 

Benson  looked  at  McCloskey. 

"  Just  as  we  came  in,  he  was  standing  over  you 
with  a  look  in  his  eyes  as  if  he  were  about  to  mur 
der  you,  and  couldn't  quite  make  up  his  mind  as 

374 


The  Boss  Machinist 

to  the  simplest  way  of  doing  it.  Then  the  look 
changed  to  his  usual  cast-iron  smile  in  the  flirt  of 
a  flea's  hind  leg — at  some  joke  you  were  telling,  I 
took  it." 

Being  careful  and  troubled  about  many  things, 
Lidgerwood  missed  the  point  of  Benson's  remark; 
could  not  remember,  when  he  tried,  just  what  it 
was  that  he  had  been  saying  to  Gridley  when  the 
interruption  came.  But  the  matter  was  easily 
dismissed.  Having  his  two  chief  lieutenants  be 
fore  him,  the  superintendent  seized  the  oppor 
tunity  to  outline  the  plan  of  campaign  for  the  night. 
McCloskey  was  to  stay  by  the  wires,  with  Calla- 
han  to  share  his  watch.  Dawson,  when  he  should 
come  down,  was  to  pick  up  a  few  of  the  loyal  en- 
ginemen  and  guard  the  roundhouse.  Benson  was 
to  take  charge  of  the  yards,  keeping  his  eye  on  the 
Nadia.  At  the  first  indication  of  an  outbreak, 
he  was  to  pass  the  word  to  Van  Lew,  who  would 
immediately  transfer  the  private-car  party  to  the 
second-floor  offices  in  the  head-quarters  building. 

"That  is  all,"  was  Lidgerwood's  summing  up, 
when  he  had  made  his  dispositions  like  a  careful 
commander-in-chief;  "all  but  one  thing.  Mac, 
have  you  seen  anything  of  Hallock  ?" 

"Not  since  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,"  was 
the  prompt  reply. 

375 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"And  Judson  has  not  yet  reported  ?" 

"No." 

"Well — this  is  for  you,  Benson — Mac  already 
knows  it:  Judson  is  out  looking  for  Hallock.  He 
has  a  warrant  for  Hallock's  arrest." 

Benson's  eyes  narrowed. 

( Then  you  have  found  the  ringleader  at  last, 
have  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  there  doesn't  seem 
to  be  any  doubt  of  Hallock's  guilt.  The  arrest 
will  be  made  quietly.  Judson  understands  that. 
There  is  another  man  that  we've  got  to  have,  and 
there  is  no  time  just  now  to  go  after  him." 

"Who  is  the  other  man?"  asked  Benson. 

"It  is  Flemister;  the  man  who  has  the  stolen 
switching-engine  boxed  up  in  a  power-house  built 
out  of  planks  sawed  from  your  Gloria  bridge- 
timbers." 

"I  told  you  so!"  exclaimed  the  young  engineer. 
"By  Jove!  I'll  never  forgive  you  if  you  don't  send 
him  to  the  rock-pile  for  that,  Lidgerwood!" 

"I  have  promised  to  hang  him,"  said  the 
superintendent  soberly — "him  and  the  man  who 
has  been  working  with  him." 

"And  that's  Rankin  Hallock!"  cut  in  the  train 
master  vindictively,  and  his  scowl  was  grotesquely 
hideous.  "Can  you  hang  them,  Mr.  Lidgerwood  ? " 

376 


The  Boss  Machinist 

"Yes.  Flemister,  and  a  man  whom  Judson  has 
identified  as  Hallock,  were  the  two  who  ditched 
204  at  Silver  Switch  last  night.  The  charge  in 
Judson's  warrant  reads,  '  train-wrecking  and 
murder.'" 

The  trainmaster  smote  the  desk  with  his  fist. 

"I'll  add  one  more  strand  to  the  rope — 
Hallock's  rope,"  he  gritted  ferociously.  "You 
remember  what  I  told  you  about  that  loosened 
rail  that  caused  the  wreck  in  the  Crosswater 
Hills  ?  You  said  Hallock  had  gone  to  Navajo  to 
see  Cruikshanks;  he  did  go  to  Navajo,  but  he  got 
there  just  exactly  four  hours  after  202  had  gone 
on  past  Navajo,  and  he  came  on  foot,  walking 
down  the  track  from  the  Hills!" 

"Where  did  you  get  that?"  asked  Lidgerwood 
quickly. 

"From  the  agent  at  Navajo.  I  wasn't  satisfied 
with  the  way  it  shaped  up,  and  I  did  a  little  inves 
tigating  on  my  own  hook." 

"Pass  him  up,"  said  Benson  briefly,  "and  let's 
go  over  this  lay-out  for  to-night  again.  I  shall  be 
out  of  touch  down  in  the  yards,  and  I  want  to 
get  it  straight  in  my  head." 

Lidgerwood  went  carefully  over  the  details  again, 
and  again  cautioned  Benson  about  the  Nadia  and 
its  party.  From  that  the  talk  ran  upon  the  ill  luck 

377 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

which  had  projected  the  pleasure-party  into  the 
thick  of  things;  upon  Mrs.  Brewster's  obstinacy— 
which  Lidgerwood  most  inconsistently  defended — 
and  upon  the  probability  of  the  president's  return 
from  the  Copperette — also  in  the  thick  of  things, 
and  it  was  close  upon  eight  o'clock  when  the  two 
lieutenants  went  to  their  respective  posts. 

It  was  fully  an  hour  farther  along,  and  the  tense 
strain  of  suspense  was  beginning  to  tell  upon  the 
man  who  sat  thoughtful  and  alone  in  the  second- 
floor  office  of  the  Crow's  Nest,  when  Benson  ran 
up  to  report  the  situation  in  the  yards. 

"Everything  quiet  so  far,"  was  the  news  he 
brought.  "We've  got  the  Nadia  on  the  east  spur, 
where  the  folks  can  slip  out  and  make  their  get 
away,  if  they  have  to.  There  are  several  little 
squads  of  the  discharged  men  hanging  around,  but 
not  many  more  than  usual.  The  east  and  west 
yards  are  clear,  and  the  three  sections  of  the  mid 
night  freight  are  crewed  and  ready  to  pull  out  when 
the  time  comes.  The  folkses  are  playing  dummy 
whist  in  the  Nadia;  and  Gridley  is  holding  the 
fort  at  the  shops  with  the  toughest-looking  lot  of 
myrmidons  you  ever  laid  your  eyes  on." 

Once  again  Lidgerwood  was  making  tiny 
squares  on  his  desk  blotter. 

"I'm  thankful  that  the  news  of  the  strike  got  to 

378 


The  Boss  Machinist 

Copah  in  time  to  bring  Gridley  over  on  203,"  he 
said. 

Benson's  boyish  eyes  opened  to  their  widest 
angle. 

"Did  he  say  he  came  in  on  Two-three?"  he 
asked. 

"He  did ." 

"Well,  that's  odd — devilish  odd!  I  was  on  that 
train,  and  I  rambled  it  from  one  end  to  the 
other — which  is  a  bad  habit  I  have  when  I'm 
trying  to  kill  travel-time.  Gridley  isn't  a  man  to 
be  easily  overlooked.  Reckon  he  was  riding  on 
the  brake-beams  ?  He  was  dirty  enough  to  make 
the  guess  good.  Hello,  Fred" — this  to  Dawson, 
who  had  at  that  moment  let  himself  in  through 
the  deserted  outer  office — "we  were  just  talking 
about  your  boss,  and  wondering  how  he  got  here 
from  Copah  on  Two-three  without  my  seeing  him." 

"He  didn't  come  from  Copah,"  said  the  drafts 
man  briefly.  "He  came  in  with  me  from  the  west, 
on  the  wrecking-train.  He  was  in  Red  Butte,  and 
he  had  an  engine  bring  him  down  to  Silver  Switch, 
where  he  caught  us  just  as  we  were  pulling  out." 


379 


XXII 

THE    TERROR 

ENGINEER  JOHN  JUDSON,  disappearing 
at  the  moment  when  the  superintendent  had 
sent  him  back  to  bully  Schleisinger  into  appoint 
ing  him  constable,  from  the  ken  of  those  who 
were  most  anxious  to  hear  from  him,  was  late  in 
reporting.  But  when  he  finally  climbed  the  stair 
of  the  Crow's  Nest  to  tap  at  Lidgerwood's  door,  he 
brought  the  first  authentic  news  from  the  camp  of 
the  enemy. 

When  McCloskey  had  come  at  a  push  of  the 
call-button,  Lidgerwood  snapped  the  night-latch 
on  the  corridor  door. 

"Let  us  have  it,  Judson,"  he  said,  when  the 
trainmaster  had  dragged  his  chair  into  the  circle 
of  light  described  by  the  green  cone  shade  of  the 
desk  lamp.  "We  have  been  wondering  what  had 
become  of  you." 

Summarized,  Judson's  story  was  the  report  of 
an  intelligent  scout.  Since  he  was  classed  with 
the  discharged  men,  he  had  been  able  to  find  out 

380 


The  Terror 

some  of  the  enemy's  moves  in  the  game  of  coercion. 
The  strikers  had  transferred  their  head-quarters 
from  the  Celestial  to  Cat  Biggs's  place,  where 
the  committees,  jealously  safeguarded,  were  now 
sitting  "in  permanence"  in  the  back  room.  Jud- 
son  had  not  been  admitted  to  the  committee-room; 
but  the  thronged  bar-room  was  public,  and  the 
liquor  which  was  flowing  freely  had  loosened  many 
tongues. 

From  the  bar-room  talk  Judson  had  gathered 
that  the  strikers  knew  nothing  as  yet  of  Mc- 
Closkey's  plan  to  keep  the  trains  moving  and 
the  wires  alive.  Hence — unless  the  free-flowing 
whiskey  should  precipitate  matters — there  would 
probably  be  no  open  outbreak  before  midnight. 
As  an  offset  to  this,  however,  the  engineer  had 
overheard  enough  to  convince  him  that  the  Copah 
wire  had  been  tapped;  that  Dix,  the  day  operator, 
had  been  either  bribed  or  intimidated,  and  was  now 
under  guard  at  the  strikers'  head-quarters,  and 
that  some  important  message  had  been  intercepted 
which  was,  in  Judson's  phrase,  "raising  sand"  in 
the  camp  of  the  disaffected.  This  recurrence  of  the 
mysterious  message,  of  which  no  trace  could  be 
found  in  the  head-quarters  record,  opened  a  fresh 
field  of  discussion,  and  it  was  McCloskey  who  put 
his  finger  upon  the  only  plausible  conclusion. 

381 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"It  is  Hallock  again,"  he  rasped.  "He  is  the 
only  man  who  could  have  used  the  private  code. 
Dix  probably  picked  out  the  cipher;  he's  got  a 
weakness  for  such  things.  Hallock's  carrying 
double.  He  has  fixed  up  some  trouble-making 
message,  or  faked  one,  and  signed  your  name  to 
it,  and  then  schemed  to  let  it  leak  out  through 
Dix." 

"It's  making  the  trouble,  all  right,"  was  Judson's 
comment.  "When  I  left  Biggs's  a  few  minutes 
ago,  Tryon  was  calling  for  volunteers  to  come 
down  here  and  steal  an  engine.  From  what  he 
said,  I  took  it  they  were  aimin'  to  go  over  into  the 
desert  to  tear  up  the  track  and  stop  somebody  or 
something  coming  this  way  from  Copah — all  on 
account  of  that  make-believe  message  that  you 
didn't  send." 

Thus  far  Judson's  report  had  dealt  with  facts. 
But  there  were  other  things  deducible.  He  in 
sisted  that  the  strength  of  the  insurrection  did  not 
lie  in  the  dissatisfied  employees  of  the  Red  Butte 
Western,  or  even  in  the  ex-employees;  it  was 
rather  in  the  lawless  element  of  the  town  which 
lived  and  fattened  upon  the  earnings  of  the  railroad 
men — the  saloon-keepers,  the  gamblers,  the  "tin 
horns"  of  every  stripe.  Moreover,  it  was  certain 
that  some  one  high  in  authority  in  the  railroad  ser- 

382 


The  Terror 

vice  was  furnishing  the  brains.  There  was  a  chief 
to  whom  all  the  malcontents  deferred,  and  who 
figured  in  the  bar-room  talk  as  the  "boss,"  or 
"the  big  boss" 

"And  that  same  'big  boss'  is  sitting  up  yonder 
in  Cat  Biggs's  back  room,  right  now,  givin'  his 
orders  and  tellin'  'em  what  to  do,"  was  Judson's 
crowning  guess,  and  since  Hallock  had  not  been 
visible  since  the  early  afternoon,  for  the  three  men 
sitting  under  the  superintendent's  desk  lamp,  Jud 
son's  inference  stood  as  a  fact  assured.  It  was 
Hallock  who  had  fomented  the  trouble;  it  was 
Hallock  who  was  now  directing  it. 

"I  suppose  you  didn't  see  anything  of  Grady, 
my  stenographer?"  inquired  Lidgerwood,  when 
Judson  had  made  an  end. 

The  engineer  shook  his  head.  "  Reckon  they've 
got  him  cooped  up  along  with  Dix?" 

"I  hope  not.  But  he  has  disappeared.  I  sent 
him  up  to  Mrs.  Dawson's  with  a  message  late  this 
afternoon,  and  he  hasn't  shown  up  since." 

"Of  course,  they've  got  him,"  said  McCloskey, 
sourly.  "Does  he  know  anything  that  he  can 
tell?" 

"Nothing  that  can  make  any  difference  now. 
They  are  probably  holding  him  to  hamper  me. 
The  boy's  loyal."  ' 

383 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

"Yes,"  growled  McCloskey,  "and  he's  Irish." 

"Well,  my  old  mother  is  Irish,  too,  for  the 
matter  of  that,"  snapped  Judson.  "If  you  don't 
like  the  Irish,  you'll  be  rinding  a  chip  on  my 
shoulder  any  day  in  the  week,  except  to-day,  Jim 
McCloskey!" 

Lidgerwood  smiled.  It  brought  a  small  relax 
ing  of  strains  to  hear  these  two  resurrecting  the 
ancient  race  feud  in  the  midst  of  the  trouble  storm. 
And  when  the  trainmaster  returned  to  his  post  in 
the  wire  office,  and  Judson  had  been  sent  back  to 
Biggs's  to  renew  his  search  for  the  hidden  ring 
leader,  it  was  the  memory  of  the  little  race  tiff  that 
cleared  the  superintendent's  brain  for  the  grapple 
with  the  newly  defined  situation. 

Judson's  report  was  grave  enough,  but  it  brought 
a  good  hope  that  the  crucial  moment  might  be 
postponed  until  many  of  the  men  would  be  too  far 
gone  in  liquor  to  take  any  active  part.  Lidger 
wood  took  the  precautions  made  advisable  by 
Tryon's  threat  to  steal  an  engine,  sending  word  to 
Benson  to  double  his  guards  on  the  locomotives  in 
the  yard,  and  to  Dawson  to  block  the  turn-table  so 
that  none  might  be  taken  from  the  roundhouse. 

Afterward  he  went  out  to  look  over  the  field  in 
person.  Everything  was  quiet;  almost  suspi 
ciously  so.  Gridley  was  found  alone  in  his  office  at 

384 


The  Terror 

the  shops,  smoking  a  cigar,  with  his  chair  tilted  to  a 
comfortable  angle  and  his  feet  on  the  desk.  His 
guards,  he  said,  were  posted  in  and  around  the 
shops,  and  he  hoped  they  were  not  asleep.  Thus 
far,  there  had  been  little  enough  to  keep  them 
awake. 

Lidgerwood,  passing  out  through  the  door  open 
ing  upon  the  electric-lighted  yard,  surprised  a  man 
in  the  act  of  turning  the  knob  to  enter.  It  was  the 
merest  incident,  and  he  would  not  have  remarked 
it  if  the  door,  closing  behind  Gridley's  visitor,  had 
not  bisected  a  violent  outburst  of  profanity,  vo 
calizing  itself  in  the  harsh  tones  of  the  master- 
mechanic,  as  thus:  "You  -  chuckle- 
headed  fool!  Haven't  you  any  better  sense  than 
to  come —  At  this  point  the  closing  door  cut  the 
sentence  of  objurgation,  and  Lidgerwood  contin 
ued  his  round  of  inspection,  trying  vainly  to  recall 
the  identity  of  the  chance-met  man  whose  face, 
half  hidden  under  the  drooping  brim  of  a  worn 
campaign-hat,  was  vaguely  familiar.  The  recol 
lection  came  at  length,  with  the  impact  of  a  blow. 
The  "chuckle-headed  fool"  of  Gridley's  male 
diction  was  Richard  Rufford,  the  "Killer's" 
younger  brother. 

Lidgerwood  said  nothing  of  this  incident  to 
Dawson,  whom  he  found  patrolling  the  round- 

385 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

house.  Here,  as  at  the  shops  and  in  the  yard, 
everything  was  quiet  and  orderly.  The  crews  for 
the  three  sections  of  the  midnight  freight  were  all 
out,  guarding  their  trains  and  engines,  and  Dawson 
had  only  Bradford  and  the  roundhouse  night-men 
for  company. 

"Nothing  stirring,  Fred?"  inquired  the  super 
intendent. 

"Less  than  nothing;  it's  almost  too  quiet,"  was 
the  sober  reply.  And  then:  "I  see  you  haven't 
sent  the  Nadia  out;  wouldn't  it  be  a  good  scheme 
to  get  a  couple  of  buckboards  and  have  the  women 
and  Judge  Holcombe  driven  up  to  our  place  on  the 
mesa  ?  The  trouble,  when  it  comes,  will  come 
this  way." 

Lidgerwood  shook  his  head. 

"My  stake  in  the  Nadia  is  precisely  the  same 
size  as  yours,  Fred,  and  I  don't  want  to  risk  the 
buckboard  business.  We'll  do  a  better  thing  than 
that,  if  we  have  to  let  the  president's  party  make  a 
run  for  it.  Get  your  smartest  passenger  flyer  out 
on  the  table,  head  it  east,  and  when  I  send  for  it, 
rush  it  over  to  couple  on  to  the  Nadia — with 
Williams  for  engineer.  Has  Benson  had  any 
trouble  in  the  yard  ?" 

"There  has  been  nobody  to  make  any.  Tryon 
came  down  a  few  minutes  ago,  considerably  more 


The  Terror 

than  half-seas  over,  and  said  he  was  ready  to  take 
his  engine  and  the  first  section  of  the  east-bound 
midnight — which  would  have  been  his  regular 
run.  But  he  went  back  uptown  peaceably  when 
Benson  told  him  he  was  down  and  out." 

Lidgerwood  did  not  extend  his  round  to  include 
Benson's  post  at  the  yard  office,  which  was  below 
the  coal  chutes.  Instead,  he  went  over  to  the 
Nadia,  thinking  pointedly  of  the  two  added  mys 
teries:  the  fact  that  Gridley  had  told  a  deliberate 
lie  to  account  for  his  appearance  in  Angels,  and  the 
other  and  more  recent  fact  that  the  master-me 
chanic  was  conferring,  even  in  terms  of  profanity, 
with  Ruffbrd's  brother,  who  was  not,  and  never  had 
been,  in  his  department. 

Under  the  "umbrella  roof"  of  the  Nadids  rear 
platform  the  young  people  of  the  party  were  sitting 
out  the  early  half  of  the  perfect  summer  night, 
the  card-tables  having  been  abandoned  when 
Benson  had  brought  word  of  the  tacit  armistice. 
There  was  an  unoccupied  camp-chair,  and  Miss 
Brewster  pointed  it  out  to  the  superintendent. 

"Climb  over  and  sit  with  us,  Howard,"  she  said, 
hospitably.  "You  know  you  haven't  a  thing  in 
the  world  to  do." 

Lidgerwood  swung  himself  over  the  railing,  and 
took  the  proffered  chair. 

387 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

'''  You  are  right;   I  haven't  very  much  to  do  just 
now,"  he  admitted. 

"Has  your  strike  materialized  yet  ?"   she  asked. 

"No;  it  isn't  due  until  midnight." 

"  I  don't  believe  there  is  going  to  be  any." 

"Don't  you?  I  wish  I  might  share  your  in 
credulity — with  reason." 

Miss  Doty  and  the  others  were  talking  about  the 
curious  blending  of  the  moonlight  with  the  mast 
head  electrics,  and  the  two  in  the  shadowed  corner 
of  the  deep  platform  were  temporarily  ignored. 
Miss  Brewster  took  advantage  of  the  momentary 
isolation  to  say,  "Confess  that  you  were  a  little  bit 
over-wrought  this  afternoon  when  you  wanted  to 
send  us  away:  weren't  you?" 

"I  only  hope  that  the  outcome  will  prove  that  I 
was,"  he  rejoined  patiently. 

"  You  still  believe  there  will  be  trouble  ?" 

"Yes." 

4  Then  I'm  afraid  you  are  still  overwrought," 
she  countered  lightly.  "Why,  the  very  atmosphere 
of  this  beautiful  night  breathes  peace." 

Before  he  could  reply,  a  man  came  up  to  the  plat 
form  railing,  touched  his  cap,  and  said,  "Is  Mr. 
Lidgerwood  here?" 

Lidgerwood  answered  in  person,  crossing  to  the 
railing  to  hear  Judson's  latest  report,  which  was 

388 


The  Terror 

given  in  hoarse  whispers.  Miss  Brewster  could 
distinguish  no  word  of  it,  but  she  heard  Lidger- 
wood's  reply.  "Tell  Benson  and  Dawson,  and 
say  that  the  engine  I  ordered  had  better  be  sent 
up  at  once." 

When  Lidgerwood  had  resumed  his  chair  he  was 
promptly  put  upon  the  question  rack  of  Miss 
Eleanor's  curiosity. 

"Was  that  one  of  your  scouts?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Did  he  come  to  tell  you  that  there  wasn't  going 
to  be  any  strike  ? " 

"No." 

"How  lucidly  communicative  you  are!  Can't 
you  see  that  I  am  fairly  stifling  with  curiosity  ?" 

"I'm  sorry,  but  you  shall  not  have  the  chance  to 
say  that  I  was  overwrought  twice  in  the  same  half- 
day." 

"  Howard !  Don't  be  little  and  spiteful.  I'll  eat 
humble  pie  and  call  myself  hard  names,  if  you  in 
sist;  only — gracious  goodness!  is  that  engine  go 
ing  to  smash  into  our  car?" 

The  anxious  query  hinged  itself  upon  the  ap 
proach  of  a  big,  eight-wheeled  passenger  flyer 
which  was  thundering  down  the  yard  on  the 
track  occupied  by  the  Nadia.  Within  half  a  car- 
length  of  collision,  the  air-brake  hissed,  the  side- 

389 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

rods  clanked  and  chattered,  and  the  shuddering 
monster  rolled  gently  backward  to  a  touch  coup 
ling  with  the  president's  car. 

Eleanor's  hand  was  on  her  cousin's  arm.  "  How 
ard,  what  does  this  mean  ?"  she  demanded. 

"Nothing,  just  at  present;    it  is  merely  a  pre 


caution." 


"You  are  not  going  to  take  us  away  from 
Angels?" 

"Not  now;  not  at  all,  unless  your  safety  de 
mands  it."  Then  he  rose  and  spoke  to  the  others. 
"I'm  sorry  to  have  to  shut  off  your  moon- vista 
with  that  noisy  beast,  but  it  may  be  necessary  to 
move  the  car,  later  on.  Don't  get  out  of  touch 
with  the  Nadia,  any  of  you,  please." 

He  had  vaulted  the  hand-rail  and  was  saying 
good-night,  when  Eleanor  left  her  chair  and  en 
tered  the  car.  He  was  not  greatly  surprised  to 
find  her  waiting  for  him  at  the  steps  of  the  forward 
vestibule  when  he  had  gone  so  far  on  his  way  to 
his  office. 

"One  moment,"  she  pleaded.  "I'll  be  good, 
Howard;  and  I  know  that  there  is  danger.  Be 
very  careful  of  yourself,  won't  you,  for  my  sake." 

He  stopped  short,  and  his  arms  went  out  to  her. 
Then  his  self-control  returned  and  his  rejoinder 
was  almost  bitter. 

390 


The  Terror 

"Eleanor,  you  must  not!  you  tempt  me  past 
endurance!  Go  back  to  Van — to  the  others,  and, 
whatever  happens,  don't  let  any  one  leave  the  car." 

"  I'll  do  anything  you  say,  only  you  must  tell  me 
where  you  are  going,"  she  insisted. 

"Certainly;  I  am  going  up  to  my  office — where 
you  found  me  this  afternoon.  I  shall  be  there 
from  this  on,  if  you  wish  to  send  any  word.  I'll 
see  that  you  have  a  messenger.  Good-by." 

He  left  her  before  her  sympathetic  mood  should 
unman  him,  his  soul  crying  out  at  the  kindness 
which  cut  so  much  more  deeply  than  her  mockery. 
At  the  top  of  the  corridor  stair  McCloskey  was 
waiting  for  him. 

"  Judson  has  told  you  what's  due  to  happen  ?" 
queried  the  trainmaster. 

"  He  told  me  to  look  for  swift  trouble;  that  some 
body  had  betrayed  your  strike-breaking  scheme." 

"He  says  they'll  try  to  keep  the  east-bound 
freights  from  going  out." 

'That  would  be  a  small  matter.  But  we  mustn't 
lose  the  moral  effect  of  taking  the  first  trick  in  the 
game.  Are  the  sections  all  in  line  on  the  long 
siding?" 

"Yes." 

"Good.  We'll  start  them  a  little  ahead  of  time, 
and  let  them  kill  back  to  schedule  after  they  get 

391 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

out  on  the  road.  Send  Bogard  down  with  their 
clearance  orders,  and  'phone  Benson  at  the  yard 
office  to  couple  them  up  into  one  train,  engine  to 
the  caboose  in  front,  and  send  them  out  solid. 
When  they  have  cleared  the  danger  limit,  they 
can  split  up  and  take  the  proper  time  intervals — 
ten  minutes  apart." 

"Call  it  done,"  said  the  trainmaster,  and  he 
went  to  carry  out  the  order.  Two  minutes  later 
Bogard,  the  night-relief  operator  off  duty,  darted 
out  of  the  despatcher's  room  with  the  clearance- 
cards  for  the  three  sections.  Lidgerwood  stopped 
him  in  mid-flight. 

"One  second,  Robert:  when  you  have  done  your 
errand,  come  back  to  the  president's  car,  ask  for 
Miss  Brewster,  and  say  that  I  sent  you.  Then 
stay  within  call  and  be  ready  to  do  whatever  she 
wants  you  to  do." 

Bogard  did  the  first  part  of  his  errand  swiftly, 
and  he  was  taking  the  duplicate  signatures  of  the 
engineer  and  conductor  of  the  third  and  last  sec 
tion  when  Benson  came  up  to  put  the  solid-train 
order  into  effect.  The  couplings  were  made 
deftly  and  without  unnecessary  stir.  Then  Benson 
stepped  back  and  gave  the  starting  signal,  twirl 
ing  his  lantern  in  rapid  circles.  Synchronized  as 
perfectly  as  if  a  single  throttle-lever  controlled 

392 


The  Terror 

them  all,  the  three  heavy  freight-pullers  hissed, 
strained,  belched  fire,  and  the  long  train  began  to 
move  out. 

It  was  Lidgerwood's  challenge  to  the  outlaws, 
and  as  if  the  blasts  of  the  three  tearing  exhausts 
had  been  the  signal  it  was  awaiting,  the  strike 
storm  broke  with  the  suddenness  and  fury  of  a 
tropical  hurricane.  From  a  hundred  hiding-places 
in  the  car-strewn  yard,  men  came  running,  some 
to  swarm  thickly  upon  the  moving  engines  and 
cabooses,  others  swinging  by  the  drawheads  to 
cut  the  air-brake  hose. 

Benson  was  swept  aside  and  overpowered  before 
he  could  strike  a  blow.  Bogard,  speeding  across 
to  take  his  post  beside  the  Nadia,  was  struck  down 
before  he  could  get  clear  of  the  pouring  hornet 
swarm.  Shots  were  fired;  shrill  yells  arose. 
Into  the  midst  of  the  clamor  the  great  siren  whistle 
at  the  shops  boomed  out  the  fire  alarm,  and  almost 
at  the  the  same  instant  a  red  glow,  capped  by  a 
rolling  nimbus  of  sooty  oil  smoke,  rose  to  beacon  the 
destruction  already  begun  in  the  shop  yards.  And 
while  the  roar  of  the  siren  was  still  jarring  upon  the 
windless  night  air,  the  electric-light  circuits  were 
cut  out,  leaving  the  yards  and  the  Crow's  Nest  in 
darkness,  and  the  frantic  battle  for  the  trains  to 
be  lighted  only  by  the  moon  and  the  lurid  glow  of 

393 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

destruction  spreading  slowly  under  its  black 
canopy  of  smoke. 

In  the  Crow's  Nest  the  sudden  coup  of  the 
strikers  had  the  effect  which  its  originator  had 
doubtless  counted  upon.  It  was  some  minutes 
after  the  lights  were  cut  off,  and  the  irruption  had 
swept  past  the  captured  and  disabled  trains  to  the 
shops,  before  Lidgerwood  could  get  his  small 
garrison  together  and  send  it,  with  McCloskey  for 
its  leader,  to  reinforce  the  shop  guard,  which  was 
presumably  fighting  desperately  for  the  control  of 
the  power  plant  and  the  fire  pumps. 

Only  McCloskey's  protest  and  his  own  anxiety 
for  the  safety  of  the  Nadias  company,  kept  Lidg 
erwood  from  leading  the  little  relief  column  of 
loyal  trainmen  and  head-quarters  clerks  in  person. 
The  lust  of  battle  was  in  his  blood,  and  for  the  time 
the  shrinking  palsy  of  physical  fear  held  aloof. 

When  the  sally  of  the  trainmaster  and  his 
forlorn-hope  squad  had  left  the  office-story  of  the 
head-quarters  building  almost  deserted,  it  was  the 
force  of  mere  mechanical  habit  that  sent  Lidger 
wood  back  to  his  room  to  close  his  desk  before  go 
ing  down  to  order  the  Nadia  out  of  the  zone  of 
immediate  danger.  There  was  a  chair  in  his  way, 
and  in  the  darkness  and  in  his  haste  he  stumbled 
over  it.  When  he  recovered  himself,  two  men, 

394 


The  Terror 

with  handkerchief  masks  over  their  faces,  were 
entering  from  the  corridor,  and  as  he  turned  at 
the  sound  of  their  footsteps,  they  sprang  upon  him. 

For  the  first  rememberable  time  in  his  life, 
Howard  Lidgerwood  met  the  challenge  of  violence 
joyfully,  with  every  muscle  and  nerve  singing  the 
battle-song,  and  a  huge  willingness  to  slay  or  be 
slain  arming  him  for  the  hand-to-hand  struggle. 
Twice  he  drove  the  lighter  of  the  two  to  the  wall 
with  well-planted  blows,  and  once  he  got  a  deadly 
wrestler's  hold  on  the  tall  man  and  would  have 
killed  him  if  the  free  accomplice  had  not  torn  his 
locked  fingers  apart  by  main  strength.  But  it 
was  two  against  one;  and  when  it  was  over,  the 
conflagration  light  reddening  the  southern  windows 
sufficed  for  the  knotting  of  the  piece  of  hemp  lash 
ing  with  which  the  two  masked  garroters  were 
binding  their  victim  in  his  chair. 

Meanwhile,  the  pandemonium  raging  at  the 
shops  was  beginning  to  surge  backward  into  the 
railway  yard.  Some  one  had  fired  a  box-car,  and 
the  upblaze  centred  a  fresh  fury  of  destruction. 
Up  at  the  head  of  the  three-sectioned  freight  train 
a  mad  mob  was  cutting  the  leading  locomotive 
free. 

Dawson,  crouching  in  the  roundhouse  door  di 
rectly  opposite,  knew  all  that  Judson  could  tell  him, 

395 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

and  he  instantly  divined  the  purpose  of  the  engine 
thieves.  They  were  preparing  to  send  the  freight 
engine  eastward  on  the  Desert  Division  main  line 
to  collide  with  and  wreck  whatever  coming  thing 
it  was  that  they  feared. 

The  threatened  deed  wrought  itself  out  before 
the  draftsman  could  even  attempt  to  prevent  it. 
A  man  sprang  to  the  footboard  of  the  freed  loco 
motive,  jerked  the  throttle  open,  stayed  at  the 
levers  long  enough  to  hook  up  to  the  most  effective 
cut-off  for  speed,  and  jumped  for  his  life. 

Dawson  was  deliberate,  but  not  slow-witted. 
While  the  abandoned  engine  was,  as  yet,  only  gath 
ering  speed  for  the  eastward  dash,  he  was  dodging 
the  straggling  rioters  in  the  yard,  racing  purpose 
fully  for  the  only  available  locomotive,  ready  and 
headed  to  chase  the  runaway — namely,  the  big 
eight-wheeler  coupled  to  the  president's  car.  He 
set  the  switch  to  the  main  line  as  he  passed  it,  but 
there  was  no  time  to  uncouple  the  engine  from  the 
private  car,  even  if  he  had  been  willing  to  leave  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  those  with  her,  helpless  in 
the  midst  of  the  rioting. 

So  there  was  no  more  than  a  gasped-out  word  to 
Williams  as  he  climbed  to  the  cab  before  the  eight- 
wheeler,  with  the  Nadia  in  tow,  shot  away  from 
the  Crow's  Nest  platform.  And  it  was  not  until 

396 


The  Terror 

the  car  was  growling  angrily  over  the  yard-limit 
switches  that  Van  Lew  burst  into  the  central  com 
partment  like  a  man  demented,  to  demand  ex 
citedly  of  the  three  women  who  were  clinging, 
terror-stricken,  to  Judge  Holcombe: 

"Who  has  seen  Miss  Eleanor?     Where  is  Miss 
Eleanor?" 


397 


XXIII 

THE    CRUCIBLE 

ONLY  Miss  Brewster  herself  could  have  an 
swered  the  question  of  her  whereabouts  at 
the  exact  moment  of  Van  Lew's  asking.  She  was 
left  behind,  standing  aghast  in  the  midst  of  tumults, 
on  the  platform  of  the  Crow's  Nest.  Terrified, 
like  the  others,  at  the  sudden  outburst  of  violence, 
she  had  ventured  from  the  car  to  look  for  Lidger- 
wood's  messenger,  and  in  the  moment  of  frightened 
bewilderment  the  Nadia  had  been  whisked  away. 

Naturally,  her  first  impulse  was  to  fly,  and  the 
only  refuge  that  offered  was  the  superintendent's 
office  on  the  second  floor.  The  stairway  door  was 
only  a  little  distance  down  the  platform,  and  she 
was  presently  groping  her  way  up  the  stair,  pray 
ing  that  she  might  not  find  the  offices  as  dark  and 
deserted  as  the  lower  story  of  the  building  seemed 
to  be. 

The  light  of  the  shop-yard  fire,  and  that  of  the 
burning  box-car  nearer  at  hand,  shone  redly 

398 


The  Crucible 

through  the  upper  corridor  windows,  enabling  her 
to  go  directly  to  the  open  door  of  the  superintend 
ent's  office.  But  when  she  reached  the  door  and 
looked  within,  the  trembling  terror  returned  and 
held  her  spell-bound,  speechless,  unable  to  move 
or  even  to  cry  out. 

What  she  saw  fitted  itself  to  nothing  real;  it 
was  more  like  a  scene  clipped  from  a  play.  Two 
masked  men  were  covering  with  revolvers  a  third, 
who  was  tied  helpless  in  a  chair.  The  captive's 
face  was  ghastly  and  blood-stained,  and  at  first  she 
thought  he  was  dead.  Then  she  saw  his  lips  move 
in  curious  twitchings  that  showed  his  teeth.  He 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  speak,  but  the  ruffian  at  his 
right  would  not  give  him  leave. 

"This  is  where  you  pass  out,  Mr.  Lidgerwood," 
the  man  was  saying  threateningly.  f'You  give 
us  your  word  that  you  will  resign  and  leave  the 
Red  Butte  Western  for  keeps,  or  you'll  sit  in  that 
chair  till  somebody  comes  to  take  you  out  and  bury 
you." 

The  twitching  lips  were  controlled  with  what 
appeared  to  be  an  almost  superhuman  effort,  but 
the  words  came  jerkily. 

"What  would  my  word,  extorted — under  such 
conditions — be  worth  to  you  ? " 

Eleanor  could  hear,  in  spite  of  the  terror  that 

399 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

would  not  let  her  cry  out  or  run  for  help.  He  was 
yielding  to  them,  bargaining  for  his  life! 

"We'll  take  it,"  said  the  spokesman  coolly.  "If 
you  break  faith  with  us  there  are  more  than  two  of 
us  who  will  see  to  it  that  you  don't  live  long  enough 
to  brag  about  it.  You've  had  your  day,  and 
you've  got  to  go." 

"And  if  I  refuse  ?"  Eleanor  made  sure  that  the 
voice  was  steadier  now. 

"It's  this,  here  and  now,"  grated  the  taller  man 
who  had  hitherto  kept  silence,  and  he  cocked  his 
revolver  and  jammed  the  muzzle  of  it  against  the 
bleeding  temple  of  the  man  in  the  chair. 

The  captive  straightened  himself  as  well  as  his 
bonds  would  let  him. 

"You — you've  let  the  psychological  moment  go 
by,  gentlemen:  I — I've  got  my  second  wind.  You 
may  burn  and  destroy  and  shoot  as  you  please,  but 
while  I'm  alive  I'll  stay  with  you.  Blaze  away,  if 
that's  what  you  want  to  do." 

The  horror-stricken  watcher  at  the  door  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  hands  to  shut  out  the  sight  of 
the  murder.  It  was  not  until  Lidgerwood's  voice, 
calm  and  even-toned  and  taunting,  broke  the  si 
lence  that  she  ventured  to  look  again. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  I'm  waiting.  Why  don't  you 
shoot  ?  You  are  greater  cowards  than  I  have  ever 

400 


Well,  gentlemen,  I'm  waiting.     Why  don't  you  shoot?" 


The  Crucible 

been,  with  all  my  shiverings  and  teeth-chatterings. 
Isn't  the  stake  big  enough  to  warrant  your  last 
desperate  play  ?  I'll  make  it  bigger.  You  are 
the  two  men  who  broke  the  rail-joint  at  Silver 
Switch.  Ah,  that  hits  you,  doesn't  it?" 

"  Shut  up ! "  growled  the  tall  man,  with  a  frightful 
imprecation.  But  the  smaller  of  the  two  was  silent. 

Lidgerwood's  grin  was  ghastly,  but  it  was  never 
theless  a  teeth-baring  of  defiance. 

"You  curs!"  he  scoffed.  "You  haven't  even 
the  courage  of  your  own  necessities!  Why  don't 
you  pluck  up  the  nerve  to  shoot,  and  be  done  with 
it?  I'll  make  it  still  more  binding  upon  you:  if 
you  don't  kill  me  now,  while  you  have  the  chance, 
as  God  is  my  witness  I'll  hang  you  both  for  those 
murders  last  night  at  Silver  Switch.  I  know  you, 
in  spite  of  your  flimsy  disguise:  /  can  call  you  both 
by  name!1' 

Out  in  the  yard  the  yellings  and  shoutings  had 
taken  on  a  new  note,  and  the  windows  of  the  upper 
room  were  jarring  with  the  thunder  of  incoming 
trains.  Eleanor  Brewster  heard  the  new  sounds 
vaguely:  the  jangle  and  clank  of  the  trains,  the 
quick,  steady  tramp  of  disciplined  men,  snapped- 
out  words  of  command,  the  sudden  cessation  of 
the  riot  clamor,  and  now  a  shuffling  of  feet  on  the 
stairway  behind  her. 

401 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

Still  she  could  not  move;  still  she  was  speechless 
and  spell-bound,  but  no  longer  from  terror.  Her 
cousin — her  lover — how  she  had  misjudged  him! 
He  a  coward  ?  This  man  who  was  holding  his 
two  executioners  at  bay,  quelling  them,  cowing 
them,  by  the  sheer  force  of  the  stronger  will, 
and  of  a  courage  that  was  infinitely  greater  than 
theirs  ? 

The  shuffling  footsteps  came  nearer,  and  once 
again  Lidgerwood  straightened  himself  in  his 
chair,  this  time  with  a  mighty  struggle  that  broke 
the  knotted  cords  and  freed  him. 

"I  said  I  could  name  you,  and  I  will!"  he  cried, 
springing  to  his  feet.  "You,"  pointing  to  the 
smaller  man,  "you  are  Pennington  Flemister;  and 
you,"  wheeling  upon  the  tall  man  and  lowering 
his  voice,  "you  are  Rankin  Hallock!" 

The  light  of  the  fire  in  the  shop  yard  had 
died  down  until  its  red  glow  no  longer  drove  the 
shadows  from  the  corners  of  the  room.  Eleanor 
shrank  aside  when  a  dozen  men  pushed  their  way 
into  the  private  office.  Then,  suddenly  the  elec 
tric  lights  went  on,  and  a  gruff  voice  said,  "Drop 
them  guns,  you  two.  The  show's  over." 

It  was  McCloskey  who  gave  the  order,  and  it 
was  obeyed  sullenly.  With  the  clatter  of  the 
weapons  on  the  floor,  the  door  of  the  outer  office 

402 


The  Crucible 

opened  with  a  jerk,  and  Judson  thrust  a  hand 
cuffed  prisoner  of  his  own  capturing  into  the 
lighted  room. 

"There  he  is,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,"  snarled  the 
engineer-constable.  "I  nabbed  him  over  yonder 
at  the  fire,  workin'  to  put  it  out,  just  as  if  he  hadn't 
told  his  gang  to  go  and  set  it!" 

"Hallock!"  exclaimed  the  superintendent,  start 
ing  as  if  he  had  seen  a  ghost.  "  How  is  this  ?  Are 
there  two  of  you  ? " 

Hallock  looked  down  moodily.  '  There  were 
two  of  us  who  wanted  your  job,  and  the  other  one 
needed  it  badly  enough  to  wreck  trains  and  to  kill 
people,  and  to  lead  a  lot  of  pig-headed  trainmen  and 
mechanics  into  a  riot  to  cover  his  tracks." 

Lidgerwood  turned  quickly.  "Unmask  those 
men,  McCloskey." 

It  was  the  signal  for  a  tumult.  The  tall  man 
fought  desperately  to  preserve  his  disguise,  but 
Flemister's  mask  was  torn  off  in  the  first  rush. 
Then  came  a  diversion,  sudden  and  fiercely  tragic. 
With  a  cry  of  rage  that  was  like  the  yell  of  a  mad 
man,  Hallock  flung  himself  upon  the  mine-owner, 
beating  him  down  with  his  manacled  hands,  chok 
ing  him,  grinding  him  into  the  dust  of  the  floor. 
And  when  the  avenger  of  wrongs  was  pulled  off 
and  dragged  to  his  feet,  Lidgerwood,  looking  past 

403 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

the  death  grapple,  saw  the  figure  of  a  woman 
swaying  at  the  corridor  door;  saw  the  awful 
horror  in  her  eyes.  In  the  turning  of  a  leaf  he 
had  fought  his  way  to  her. 

"Good  heavens,  Eleanor!"  he  gasped.  "What 
are  you  doing  here?"  and  he  faced  her  about 
quickly  and  led  her  into  the  corridor  lest  she  should 
see  the  distorted  features  of  the  victim  of  Hallock's 
vengeance. 

"I  came — they  took  the  car  away,  and  I — I  was 
left  behind,"  she  faltered.  And  then:  "Oh, 
Howard!  take  me  away;  hide  me  somewhere! 
It's  too  horrible!" 

There  was  a  bull-bellow  of  rage  from  the  room 
they  had  just  left,  and  Lidgerwood  hurried  his 
companion  into  the  first  refuge  that  offered,  which 
chanced  to  be  the  trainmaster's  room.  Out  of 
the  private  office  and  into  the  corridor  came  the 
taller  of  the  two  garroters,  holding  his  mask  in 
place  as  he  ran,  with  McCloskey,  Judson,  and  all 
but  one  or  two  of  the  others  in  hot  pursuit. 

Notwithstanding,  the  fugitive  gained  the  stair 
and  fell,  rather  than  ran,  to  the  bottom.  There 
was  the  crash  of  a  bursting  door,  a  soldierly  com 
mand  of  "Halt!"  the  crack  of  a  cavalry  rifle,  and 
McCloskey  came  back,  wiping  his  homely  face 
with  a  bandanna. 

404 


The  Crucible 

"They  got  him,"  he  said;  and  then,  seeing 
Eleanor  for  the  first  time,  his  jaw  dropped  and  he 
tried  to  apologize.  "Excuse  me,  Miss  Brewster; 
I  didn't  have  the  least  idea  you  were  up  here." 

"Nothing  matters  now,"  said  Eleanor,  pale  to 
the  lips.  "Come  in  here  and  tell  us  about  it. 
And — and — is  mamma  safe?" 

"  She's  down-stairs  in  the  Nadia,  with  the  others 
—where  I  supposed  you  were,"  McCloskey  began; 
but  Lidgerwood  heard  the  feet  of  those  who  were 
carrying  Flemister' s  body  from  the  chamber  of 
horrors,  and  quickly  shutting  the  door  on  sight 
and  sounds,  started  the  trainmaster  on  the  story 
which  must  be  made  to  last  until  the  way  was  clear 
of  things  a  woman  should  not  see. 

"Who  was  the  tall  man?"  he  asked.  "I 
thought  he  was  Hallock — I  called  him  Hallock." 

The  trainmaster  shook  his  head.  'They're 
about  the  same  build;  but  we  were  all  off  wrong, 
Mr.  Lidgerwood — 'way  off.  It's  been  Gridley: 
Gridley  and  his  side-partner,  Flemister,  all  along. 
Gridley  was  the  man  who  jumped  the  passenger 
at  Crosswater  Hills,  and  took  up  the  rail  to  ditch 
Clay's  freight — with  Hallock  chasing  him  and  try 
ing  to  prevent  it.  Gridley  was  the  man  who  helped 
Flemister  last  night  at  Silver  Switch — with  Hal- 
lock  trying  again  to  stop  him,  and  Judson  trying 

405 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

to  keep  tab  on  Hallock,  and  getting  him  mixed  up 
with  Gridley  at  every  turn,  even  to  mistaking  Grid- 
ley's  voice  and  his  shadow  on  the  window-curtain 
for  Hallock's.  Gridley  was  the  man  who  stole  the 
switch-engine  and  ran  it  over  the  old  Wire-Silver 
spur  to  the  mine  to  sell  it  to  Flemister  for  his 
mine  power-plant — they've  got  it  boxed  up  and 
running  there,  right  now.  Gridley  is  the  man 
who  has  made  all  this  strike  trouble,  bossing  the 
job  to  get  you  out  and  to  get  himself  in,  so  he 
could  cover  up  his  thieveries.  Gridley  was  the 
man  who  put  up  the  job  with  Bart  Rufford  to  kill 
you,  and  Judson  mistook  his  voice  for  Hallock's 
that  time,  too.  Gridley  was— 

"Hold  on,  Mac,"  interrupted  the  superintendent; 
"how  did  you  learn  all  this?" 

"Part  of  it  through  some  of  his  men,  who  have 
been  coming  over  to  us  in  the  last  half-hour  and 
giving  him  away;  part  of  it  through  Dick  Rufford, 
who  was  keeping  tab  on  him  for  the  money  he  could 
squeeze  out  of  him  afterward." 

"How  did  Rufford  come  to  tell  you  ?" 

"Why,  Bradford — that  is — er — the  two  Ruf- 
fords  started  a  little  shooting  match  with  Andy, 
and — m-m — well,  Bart  passed  out  for  keeps,  this 
time,  but  Dick  lived  long  enough  to  tell  Bradford 
a  few  things — for  old  cow-boy  times'  sake,  I  sup- 

AO6 


The  Crucible 

pose.  I'll  never  put  it  all  over  any  man,  again, 
as  long  as  I  live,  Mr.  Lidgerwood,  after  rubbing 
it  into  Hallock  the  way  I  did,  when  he  was  doing 
his  level  best  to  help  us  out.  But  it's  partly  his 
own  fault.  He  wanted  to  play  a  lone  hand,  and 
he  was  scheming  to  get  them  both  into  the  same 
frying-pan — Gridley  and  Flemister." 

Lidgerwood  nodded.  "He  had  a  pretty  bitter 
grudge  against  Flemister." 

"The  worst  a  man  could  have,"  said  McClos- 
key  soberly.  Then  he  added:  "I've  got  a  few 
thousand  dollars  saved  up  that  says  that  Rankin 
Hallock  isn't  going  to  hang  for  what  he  did  in  the 
other  room  a  few  minutes  ago.  I  knew  it  would 
come  to  that  if  the  time  ever  ripened  right  sud 
denly,  and  I  tried  to  find  Judson  to  choke  him  off. 
But  John  got  in  ahead  of  me." 

Lidgerwood  switched  the  subject  abruptly  in 
deference  to  Eleanor's  deep  breathing. 

"I  must  take  Miss  Brewster  to  her  friends. 
You  say  the  Nadia  is  back  ?  Who  moved  it  with- 
out  orders  ? " 

'Yes,  she's  back,  all  right,  and  Dawson  is  the 
man  who  comes  in  for  the  blessing.  He  wanted 
an  engine — needed  one  right  bad — and  he  couldn't 
wait  to  uncouple  the  car.  It  was  Hallock  who 
sent  that  message  to  Mr.  Leckhard  that  we've 

407 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

>  been  hearing  so  much  about,  and  it  was  a  beg  for 
the  loan  of  a  few  of  Uncle  Sam's  boys  from  Fort 
McCook.  Gridley  got  on  to  it  through  Dix,  and 
he  also  cut  us  out  of  Mr.  Leckhard's  answer  telling 
us  that  the  cavalry  boys  were  on  73.  By  Gridley's 
orders,  the  two  Ruffords  and  some  others  turned 
an  engine  loose  to  run  down  the  road  for  a  head- 
ender  with  the  freight  that  was  bringing  the  sol 
diers.  Dawson  chased  the  runaway  engine  with  the 
coupled-up  Nadia  outfit,  caught  it  just  in  the  nick 
of  time  to  prevent  a  collision  with  73,  and  brought 
it  back.  He's  down  in  the  car  now,  with  one  of 
the  young  women  crying  on  his  neck,  and— 

Miss  Brewster  got  up  out  of  her  chair,  found  she 
could  stand  without  tottering,  and  said:  "Howard, 
I  must  go  .back  to  mamma.  She  will  be  perfectly 
frantic  if  some  one  hasn't  told  her  that  I  am  safe. 
We  can  go  now,  can't  we,  Mr.  McCloskey  ?  The 
trouble  is  all  over,  isn't  it  ?" 

The  trainmaster  nodded  gravely. 

"It's  over,  all  but  the  paying  of  the  bills.  That 
rifle-shot  we  heard  a  little  spell  ago  settled  it.  No, 
he  isn't  dead  " — this  in  answer  to  Lidgerwood's  un 
spoken  question — "but  it  will  be  a  heap  better  for 
all  concerned  if  he  don't  get  over  it.  You  can  go 
down.  Lieutenant  Baldwin  has  posted  his  men 
around  the  shops  and  the  Crow's  Nest." 

408 


The  Crucible 

Together  they  left  the  shelter  of  the  trainmaster's 
room,  and  passed  down  the  dark  stair  and  out  upon 
the  platform,  where  the  cavalrymen  were  mounting 
guard.  There  was  no  word  spoken  by  either  until 
they  reached  the  Nadia's  forward  vestibule,  and 
then  it  was  Lidgerwood  who  broke  the  silence  to 
say:  "I  have  discovered  something  to-night, 
Eleanor:  I'm  not  quite  all  the  different  kinds  of  a 
coward  I  thought  I  was." 

"Don't  tell  me!"  she  said,  in  keen  self-reproach, 
and  her  voice  thrilled  him  like  the  subtle  melody  of 
a  passion  song.  "Howard,  dear,  I — I'm  sitting  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes.  I  saw  it  all — with  my  own 
eyes,  and  I  could  neither  run  nor  scream.  Oh,  it 
was  splendid!  I  never  dreamed  that  any  man 
could  rise  by  the  sheer  power  of  his  will  to  such  a 
pinnacle  of  courage.  Does  that  make  amends- 
just  a  little  ?  And  won't  you  come  to  breakfast 
with  us  in  the  morning,  and  let  me  tell  you  after 
ward  how  miserable  I've  been — how  I  fairly 
nagged  father  into  bringing  this  party  out  here  so 
that  I  might  have  an  excuse  to — to — 

He  forgot  the  fierce  strife  so  lately  ended;  forgot 
the  double  victory  he  had  won. 

"But — but  Van  Lew,"  he  stammered — "he  told 
me  that  you — that  he—  "  and  then  he  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  her,  while  a  young  man  with 

409 


The  Taming  of  Red  Butte  Western 

a  bandaged  head — a  man  who  answered  to  the 
name  of  Jack  Benson,  and  who  was  hastening  up 
to  get  permission  to  go  home  to  Faith  Dawson 
—turned  his  back  considerately  and  walked  away. 

"What  were  you  going  to  say  about  Herbert  ?" 
she  murmured,  when  he  let  her  have  breath 
enough  to  speak  with. 

"I  was  merely  going  to  remark  that  he  can't 
have  you  now,  not  if  he  were  ten  thousand  times 
your  accepted  lover." 

She  escaped  from  his  arms  and  ran  lightly  up 
the  steps  of  the  private  car.  And  from  the  safe 
vantage-ground  of  the  half-opened  door  she  turned 
and  mocked  him. 

"Silly  boy,"  she  said  softly.  "Can't  you  read 
print  when  it's  large  enough  to  shout  at  all  the 
world?  Herbert  and  Carolyn  have  been  *  an 
nounced'  for  more  than  three  months,  and  they  are 
to  be  married  when  we  get  back  to  New  York. 
That's  all;  good-night,  and  don't  you  dare  to  for 
get  your  breakfast  engagement!" 


410 


BOOKS  BY  FRANCIS  LYNDE 

Published  by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER-S  SONS,  NEW  YORK 


The  King  of  Arcadia 

Illustrated.     12mo.    $1.50 

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that  will  keep  the  reader  excited  to  the  end." 

— New  York  Sun. 

"  A  romance  of  Western  life  brimful  of  adven 
ture  and  human  interest." 

— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Not  often  does  one  come  upon  a  romance  so 
thoroughly  good  and  skilfully  written." 

— Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"There  is  grip  and  fire  in  the  narrative  of 
Ballard's  triumphs  over  material  obstacles, 
realism  and  human  nature  in  his  somewhat 
abrupt  and  tempestuous  wooing." 

— Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  A  novel  of  love  and  mystery  in  the  West  .  .  . 
full  of  adventure  and  of  thrilling  interest  from 
first  to  last." — Chicago  Inter  Ocean. 


BOOKS  BY  FRANCIS  LYNDE 

A  Romance  inTransit 

16mo.     75  cents 

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tion  will  be  found  in  this  little  book." 

—  The  Critic. 

"  From  beginning  to  close  it  is  a  downright 
clever  story  full  of  delightful  humor." 

—  The  Independent. 

"  A  very  pretty  and  lively  story  with  incident 
enough  and  rapid  changes  enough  to  make  the 
reader  fairly  giddy  with  excitement." 

— St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press. 

"  Mr.  Lynde  has  told  the  story  with  animation 
and  spirit." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  Very  amusingly  told,  the  field  gives  so  keen, 
humorous,  and  appreciative  an  observer  as 
Mr.  Lynde  ample  material  for  a  charming  little 
romance." — Denver  Republican. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK 


14  DAY  USE 

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LD  21A-50m-12,'60 
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General  Library 
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Ro.-L-.al.n., 

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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


